God’s mercy, special grace, can set him free again.
He’s fallen into a pit, unfathomed, bottomless.
His own sin this. Compulsion ’tis not, fate, nor cess.100
Into a pit he’s cast himself, for which my mind
Cannot imagine sounding-line, its depth to find.
“It’s useless to continue further in this strain.
Not hearts alone, but rocks, may weep at folly’s train.
If men’s hearts break not, ’tis that they are harder still,
Through carelessness, preoccupation, sloth, ill-will.
They’ll break and bleed one day, when tears will not avail.