Page:The Man Who Died Twice (1924).djvu/86

 I make a joyful noise unto the Lord,

But I know it’s a noise, and the Lord knows it—

Just as he knows that I have told to you

Only the truth, and that I had it—once.

Fool as I was and remnant as I am,

My prayer will be to you that you forget me,

If in your memory there survive a doubt

That I was less than you believed I was

Till I was chastened. For I swear to you

That as I knew the quality, not slight,

Of a young harvest that I would not save,

I know that in the fields where kings have been

Before me there was never found by them

A sheaf more golden than the grain I lost

When the Lord smote my field that afternoon.

I am not telling you this to salve a bruise,

For now the bruise is healed. I shall go lame