My soul was beggar at the throne of God:
“Forgive it, Lord, if I have too soon sped
From the dear earth Thou gavest—for want of bread
My body died—under insensate clod
It lies, forgotten in the hearts of men,
And the cold snows have drifted and the wind
Between the stars rushes above it blind,
Against that day when clay shall rise again.

“‘Am I my brother's keeper?’ Thy people cry;
They wear self-righteousness like any cloak;
What matters it to them if beggars die!”
In wrath the Lord God out of heaven spoke:
“O men of earth, seed of the son of Cain,
My Son hath died for thee, and hath He died in vain?”