Was that somebody I?
At home neglected, nowhere a faithful friend,
You listless wandered on;
Till fool or knave declared: “You’re bad, your end
Looms dark—a criminal born!”
Was that somebody I?
Despised yet more—the Christ and thee—then crime!
You bore with shame the chains!
Your training and your arts, in Hell’s own clime,
Went on with damning drains—