And as in spring relents the frozen ground,
Even so it seemed as though his heart unbound,
Streamed from his eyes like loosened floods the tears:
“Woe’s me,” he cried; “for thirty guilty years—
My life’s best treasure have I spent in vain,
And death and hell are now my only gain.
I totter on a dark chasm’s dreadful brink,
Hell’s jaws are yawning for me, and I sink:
Yet since none ever thou didst from thee cast,
I stretch my hands to thee; Lord, hold them fast.”