Classic Poem

I have not sinned against the God of Love,
And so I think that when I come to die,
His face will reach to me, and hang above,
And comfort me, and hush me where I lie.

Weak am I, full of faults, and on the brink
Of Death perchance with awe my pulse shall move;
I am not fit to die, and yet I think
I have not sinned against the God of Love.

I have desired fame, riches, the clear crown
Of influence, and pleasure's long-drawn zest,
Yet at all times I would have laid these down
To please the human heart that I love best;

Wherefore I hope when I must go my way
Down that dark doubtful road that mortals prove,
Some one will cheer my shivering soul, and say,
He has not sinned against the God of Love.