Thus ignorantly holy Church’s power.
Thy very sorrow half absolveth thee.
In name of Him who blessed the dying thief,
I bid thee look no longer at thy past.
Which eateth like some canker at thy heart,
Redeem thy past in deeds of future good;
Deem’st thy high dreams were given thee for nought?
There is a noble doom about thy face,
A writing writ of God that telleth me
That thou art not a common ordered man,