Upon the scutcheon of its spotless truth.
Not without hope of pardon; for the soul
Is sponsor to the heart; if she can tell
Of purest purpose loftily upheld,
We need not be so sad, my heart and I,
To wear a little while upon our breast
The crimson rosary.
And when the soul
Shall speak at last the full “Absolvo te,”
Then will we lay forevermore aside