Behold then the better Tree of Life, free unto us all for grafting,
Cut thee from the hollow root of self, to be budded on a richer Vine.
Be desperate, O man, as of evil, so of good; tear that tunic from thee;
The past can never be retrieved, be the present what it may.
Vain is the penance and the scourge, vain the fast and vigil:
The fencer's cautious skill to-day, can this erase his scars?
It is Man's to famish as a faquir, it is Man's to die a devotee,
Light is the torture and the toil, balanced with the wages of Eternity:
But, it is God's to yearn in love, on the humblest, the poorest, and the worst,
For He giveth freely, as a king, asking only thanks for mercy.