When men of infamy to grandeur soar, They light a torch to show their shame the more.
A foe to God ne'er was true friend to man, Some sinister intent taints all he does.
Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt.
Where, where for shelter shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale?
Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, "that my heart has bled."
The purpose firm is equal to the deed