Habitual footprints marked the sinner's soil,

Pacing to and from God's path.

He strays—his mind distant, his feet disloyal,

Hoping to escape from man's untimely wrath.

"I can't see through this faithless carnage, 5

This is not where I yearn to be!

In this world so savage,

I beg: bring me back to reality!"

"You needn't beg. The deed will be done.

But I have sent you fortitude 10

Yet you rejected it, my son.

You require hope, and stand in need of gratitude."

The poor man groveled, begged, and pleaded,

Struggling to come across somebody—anybody—to implicate.

Completely oblivious to what he needed, 15

He failed his efforts to ingratiate.

"Please, forgive me for my impotence,

My pride could not be effectual.

When the time comes for me to face my sentence

I hope to remain sedate and spiritual." 20

"My plans for you are tentative

They will not be carried out facilely.

And though inside of you I may live

It is in your worst moments you'll want no reality."