Until my whole life's striving is made vain.
It is too late, too late!
My house is left unto me desolate.
Yet what if here,
Through this despair too dark for dreams of fear,
Through the last bitterness of the last vain tear,
One saw a face—
Human—not turned away from man's disgrace—
A face divinely dear—
A head that had a crown of thorns to wear;