When I complained that I had lost my hope
Of life eternal with the eternal God;
When I refused to read my horoscope
In the unchanging stars, or claim abode
With powers and dominations, but, poor clod,
Clung to the earth and grovelled in my tears,
Because I soon must lie beneath the sod
And close the little number of my years,--
Then I was told that pride had barred the way,
And raised this foul rebellion in my head.
Yet, strange rebellion! I, but yesterday,
Was God's own son in His own likeness bred.
And thrice strange pride! who thus am cast away
And go forth lost and disinherited.

More verses by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt