O God, that I—that I could stoop
To play this loathly part!
O God, that with a face so calm
I cloak so black a heart!
Yet the end is gained and the secret sure:
They shall lay the tortured clod
Of this vile clay in the open day
With honour beneath the sod."
That night 'twas known that a felon's soul
Had gone to meet its God.