That knows the sorrow of sin’s piteous load.
Father in Heaven, blessed be the hour
When in the beast-soul rises the sad voice
Of human shame, crying: “I will arise,
And seek my Father’s feet, and mourn my sin.”
Blessed the hour when the dread scourge of pain
Is gladly borne by some poor tortur’d soul,
Because it sees its foulness before Thee
By the white light of Christ, Who dwells within
The outrag’d temple of humanity.