0 256 0
Now from my sum of life full seventy years Have borne to my great Master their report, Wherein, recorded to the slightest thought, The story of my vanished past appears. Soon will He call me, and not unawares, Hence from His vineyard where I stand, with naught But poor, unprofitable service wrought, Counting the long array of sad arrears. And then? A faint voice faintly understood Replies: "He that created thee did mark, Yea, search thee altogether, and foreknew, Ere the first fibre of thy body grew, Ere yet thy spirit kindled from the dark-- Can he renounce thee and His Fatherhood?"