Page:The Man Who Died Twice (1924).djvu/89

 Not more than once or twice, and hardly that,

In a same century will another have it,

To know what I have lost. You do not know.

I’ve made for you only a picture of it,

No worse or better than a hundred others

Might be of the same thing—all mostly trash.

But I have found far more than I have lost

And so shall not go mourning. God was good

To give my soul to me before I died

Entirely, and He was no more than just

In taking all the rest away from me.

I had it, and I knew it; and I failed Him.

I did not wait.”

“You could not wait,” I told him,

“Instead of moulding you to suit the rules,

They made you mostly out of living brimstone,