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Holy Father, forgive me ! I am but sore angered with these
I am Thine, as Thou knovvest, Thine alone, — never bended my knees
To the Pope, nor the Saints, nor the Virgin ; nor cowered to please
The young parson in yellow, who moans at the Chapel of Ease.

I know naught about singing and playing, nor wearing of crowns ;
But there may be a school outside Heaven for learning such things,
Or the Master may give me employment I know how to do, —
Say the care of the wondrous white horses of John the Divine.

Or I might keep the gates 'gainst the dogs of the liars without, —
I am great against liars myself; yet I lied to the squire
When I met him, along with the rest, at his coming of age,
And hurra'd for " Our noble young master " — he, mean as a hound !