My sins of scarlet I pray Thee wash away, For they were done in passion and hot blood, When youth was lord of me nor understood The glory of the beauty of Thy way. So pardon them; but, Lord, if I have stood The enemy of any destitute, Done cruelty to any man or brute, Or nailed Thy poor upon a cross of wood, Or on a cross of gold, or iron, O, smite! Smite with Thy rod and cast me from Thy sight. LAST WORD Let no man call me coward that I will die And dip no more my bread in living’s foul And muddy stream; but, God, accept my soul Which into air so soon must wandering fly. For I have never hated you at all, You brother men, albeit that you must Hate all such dust as is not of your dust, Content for power to strive and hate and brawl. But to you who have laughed and holpen one another, You few gay valiant souls amid the rabble, I say--“God knows I have loved you!” Then forgive Me in whose heart is no more power to live: Who must with this poor gesture break the bubble Which held us here on Earth brother to brother. VANITY OF VANITIES We spend our days for things which profit not, We set our heart on things. When sense is edged and blood of youth is hot, And when stiff age like ice about us clings, We spend our days for that which profits not, We set our heart on things. More worthy was the blasphemous disdain Of all God’s world of sense by stubborn saint, Ungrateful of the sunlight and the rain, Untouched by colours bending rainbows paint. More worthy was the pagan ignorance Of all save what a world of sense discloses: That found his soul above the starry dance, This in a sweet but fading heaven of roses. But us no heaven of saint nor flower delights; When sense is edged and blood of youth is hot We spend our days for things which profit not, And in the last cold days and lonely nights Wherewith our little span of living closes, We set our heart on things. What profits it, you futile little men Who, furry-coated, tethering the lightning, From here to London ride and back again? What profits it, you whose fat hands are tightening Upon the lives of others? Nay, but tell What would you profit gaining all the world? (And if there were no hell) What have you seen of loveliness unfurled In heaven above or on the earth below? Speak! What have you to show? What do you profit? If you drove a car Through Paradise you would not hear the wings! Did Michael leave the gates of God ajar (As he has done!) what would you crave but things? More houses, maybe, with a telephone, To call your own!