Oh, how have I been deluded into thinking
That any profit of soul rested in any
Creature, even if it be chief of comeliness.
That the vain glances of esteeem amounted to
Anything greater than naught. What a dreadful lie
Have I allowed into my purposes. For what?
Mere triflings with dispurpose all these courses are.
I shed these pauper's drab for the robes of sonship,
As I wet my Father's shoulders with tears of pain,
As His hand pats my back and restores me again.
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