Save that thou strip man’s arrant love of lust
And cloak his tarnished soul with sudden gold.
II.
Beauty! thy price has been a nation’s spoil,—
A wizard’s epitaph, a child’s grim plea;
And yet a peasant bought thee with his toil,
A poet lived with thee in penury.
HERBERT W. HARTMAN, JR.
Fear of God
“I’ve never told anyone how I happened to become a priest because, for the first few years after ordination I didn’t like to recall the circumstances surrounding it, and afterwards, when they had lost most of their sting, the whole thing was so deeply buried in the past that I never resurrected it. But now, since I’m reaching that point where the events of my life appear to me more as interesting stories than anything else, I may as well tell it to you from that point of view.