Go to the prisoner's cell; to-morrow's light
Shall be the last on earth he e'er shall see.
He mutters hate 'gainst all, and threatens ill
To every semblance of the human form.
Deep in his soul remorse, despair and hate,
Dwell unillumined by one ray of light,
And sway his spirit as the waves are swayed
By wind and storm. He may have cause to hold
His fellow-men as foes; for, at the first
Of his departure from an upright course,
They scorned and shunned and cursed him.
They sinn‚d thus, and he, in spite for them,
Kept on his sullen way from wrong to wrong.
Which is the greatest sinner? He shall say
Who of the hearts of men alone is judge.
Now, in his cell condemned, he waits the hour,
The last sad hour of mortal life to him.
His oaths and blasphemies he sudden stays!
He thinks he hears upon his prison door
A gentle tap. O, to his hardened heart
That gentle sound a sweet remembrance brings
Of better days-two-score of years gone by,
Days when his mother, rapping softly thus,
Called him to morning prayer.
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