Thriving guilt is haunted. As if to mock
Its rise, is hurled from the Tarpeian rock,
Shivers in dungeons, is scourged, branded, all
To stamp sin’s end, and emphasize pride’s fall.
If Justice often lags, alas, to find
Fit chastisement for crime, and may seem blind,
Conscience is keener-sighted; and its goad
And whip spare not; no mercy for the load.
How cheered would be the sinner could he think
Dying cleared accounts; he had but to sink