Chapter VII

I outraged with a laugh of scorn
The God-man in His hour of woe--
But from my feet the way is torn--
_I feel the whirlwind_--I must go.
You, who feel not another’s pain,
Tremble--and help him while you can;
The crime I dared was foul disdain
Not of God only, but of Man.
Never, never,
Till this earth its race has run,
Shall my goal of death be won.

FINIS.