"I grew up Timid and sensitive, not very strong, Not understood of father or of mother. They did not love me, and I never felt A tenderness for them. I used to quote: 'Who is my mother and who are my brothers?' At school I was not liked. I had a chum From time to time, that's all. And I remember My mother on a day put with my luncheon A bottle of milk, and when the noon hour came I missed it, found some boys had taken it, And when I asked for it, they made the cry: 'Bottle of milk, bottle of milk,' and I Flushed through with shame, and cried, and to this hour It hurts me to remember it. Such days, All misery! For all my clothes were patched. They hooted at me. So I lived alone. At twelve years old I had great fears of death, And hell, heard devils in my room. One night During a thunderstorm heard clanking chains, And hid beneath the pillows. One spring day As I was walking on the village street Close to the church I heard a voice which said 'Behold, my son'--and falling on my knees I prayed in ecstacy--but as I prayed Some passing school boys laughed, threw stones at me. A heat ran through me, I arose and fled. Well, then I joined the church and was baptized. But something left me in the ceremony, I lost my ecstacy, seemed slipping back Into the trap. I took to wandering In solitary places, could not bear To see a human face. I slept for nights In still ravines, or meadows. But one time Returning to my home, I found the room Filled up with visitors--my heart stopped short, And glancing at the faces of my parents I hurried, bolted through, and did not speak, Entered a bed-room door and closed it. So I tell this just to illustrate my shyness, Which cursed my youth and made me miserable, Something I fought but could not overcome. And pondering on the Scriptures I could see How I resembled the saints, our Saviour even, How even as my brothers called me mad They called our Saviour so.