THE wine-flushed monarch slept–but in his ear
An angel breathed–“Repent; or choose the flame
Quenchless.” In dread he woke, but not in shame,
Deep musing–“Sin I love, yet Hell I fear.”
Wherefore he left his feasts, and minions dear,
And justly ruled, and died a saint in name.
But when his hasting spirit heavenward came
A stern Voice cried–“Oh Soul! what dost thou here?”
“Love I forswore, and wine, and kept my vow
To live a just and joyless life, and now
I crave reward.” The Voice came like a knell–
“Fool! dost thou hope to find again thy mirth,
And those foul joys thou didst renounce on earth?
Yea, enter in! My Heaven shall be thy Hell!”
(Constance Naden)
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