Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street.
Once I was pure as the snow, but I fell—
Fell like the snow-flakes from heaven to hell
Fell to be trampled as filth in the street—
Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on, and beat—
Pleading—Cursing—Dreading to die,
Selling my soul to whoever would buy;
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread,
Hating the living and fearing the dead,
Merciful God, have I fallen so low?