What though the angry world should try to fight thee,
And of all crimes accuse thee, innocent?
What though with wrathful words thy fellows smite thee
And it is hard for thee not to resent
Their blows unwarranted, and either weep
Or answer them with terrifying rage?
Let not these arrows sharp pierce thee too deep
Nor yet distract thee from the war we wage.
O thou, who oft before an angry man
Dost quake with terror, how then dost thou think
That thou shalt stand before the wrath of God?
None but a fool flatters himself he can
(Unless a saint) - so, at the thought I shrink,
Mindful of the stray steps that I have trod.