The Condemned

Read me no moral, priest, upon my life,— Reserve that for your flock. A few short hours will end my mortal strife, Upon the gallows block. Before the gaping crowd, who come to see A fellow mortal die, Preach if you choose, and take your text from me,— To them I cannot lie. And still the less can I, a finite man, Pretend to cheat my God: By him the workings of his mighty plan Are clearly understood. Conceived in lust, brought up in sordid sin, How could I hope to be Aught but the outcast I have ever been, Fruit for the gallows tree? Go teach the children swarming through the town, To-day exposed to all The poverty and vice that drew me down,— Save them before they fall. But as for me, I die as I have lived, As all men must, Believing as I always have believed That God is just.