Classic Poem

He who looks in golden state
Down from ramparts of high heaven,
Knows he any change of fate,
It must be of evil given —
He perhaps shall wander late
Downward through the luminous gate.

He who makes himself a gay
Dear familiar of things evil —
In some deepest tarn astray —
Close-companioned of the Devil —
He can nowhere turn his way
Save up brighter slopes of day.

Plight it is, yet clear to see.
Hence take solace of your sinning. —
As ye sink unfathomably
Heaven grows ever easier winning.
Therefore ye who saved would be,
Come and shake a leg with me!