Grew not from a soul of vice and shame.
Sleep well, old saint; not yours the will
To plant the world with the germs that kill.
Not yours the conscious guilt that lies
In men who ravage with open eyes.
You did, old dog, the best you knew,
And that is better than most men do;
And if ever I get to the great Just Place
I shall look for your honest, kind old face.
—Will Carleton.