“Most wretched one!” No, not to him belongs
Misery’s preeminence in this sad world’s sight
Who suffereth for conscience and the right,
As he deems right. To him the scourging thongs
Of adverse fortune and the countless wrongs
His fellows cast upon him are too light
Afflictions to endure forever. Spite
Has never hushed one note of heavenly songs.
But he that gains the plaudits of the crowd
For deeds unworthy, hears men name his sins
As virtues, and thereof wax emulous,—
He only that such shameful honour wins,
(Not this non-juring priest), should cry aloud
Past hope, “Miserrimus! Miserrimus!”
(Oscar Fay Adams)
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