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.