Ceaseless she paces to and fro, O heart-sick days! O nights of woe! Nor hand of friend, nor loving face, Nor favor comes, nor word of grace.

It was not I that sinn’d the sin, The ruthless body dragg’d me in; Though long I strove courageously, The body was too much for me.

Dear prison’d soul bear up a space, For soon or late the certain grace; To set thee free and bear thee home, The heavenly pardoner death shall come.

Convict no more, nor shame, nor dole! Depart⁠—a God-enfranchis’d soul!