Poetry > Course of time

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THE COUESE OF TIME.
As in the all-piercing light he stood exposed,
No longer herding with the holy ones.
Yet still he tried to bring his countenance
To sanctimonious seeming; but meanwhile,
The shame within, now visible to all,
His purpose baulked. The righteous smiled, and
even
Despair itself some signs of laughter gave,
As ineffectually he strove to wipe
His brow that inward guiltiness defiled.
Detected wretch ! of all the reprobate,
None seemed maturer for the flames of hell,
Where still his face, from ancient custom, wears
A holy air, which says to all that pass
Him by, “ I was a hypocrite on earth.”
That was the hour which measured out to each,
Impartially, his share of reputation,
Correcting all mistakes, and from the name
Of the good man all slanders wiping off.
Good name was dear to all. Without it, none
Could soundly sleep, even on a royal bed,
Or drink with relish from a cup of gold;
And with it, on his borrowed straw, or by
The leafless hedge, beneath the open heavens,
The weary beggar took untroubled rest.
It was a music of most heavenly tone,
To which the heart leaped joyfully, and all
The spirits danced. For honest fame, men laid
Their heads upon the block, and while the axe