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THE HERMIT.
117
Evil my life, and an error,
Based on a pride so blind,
Deeming that man, of Thy works alone,
Flourished without his kind.
Now, but for thee, O my Father,
I had been like the king
Who as a brute with the brutes did graze,
Sunk to a meaner thing.
Saved by a hand's-breadth from madness -
Saved, but all useless now,
Let me be warning who may not guide,
Publish my latest vow.
All of my life that remameth,
Though but a breath it be,
Take it, my brothers, forsaken, lost,
Take it, as all of me.
