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3.

Each soul I might have succored, may have slain, All souls shall face me at the last Appeal, That great last moment poised for woe or weal, That final moment for man's bliss or bane. Vanity of vanities, yea all is vain Which then will not avail or help or heal: Disfeatured faces, worn-out knees that kneel, Will more avail than strength or beauty then. Lord, by Thy Passion,--when Thy Face was marred In sight of earth and hell tumultuous, And Thy heart failed in Thee like melting wax, And Thy Blood dropped more precious than the nard,-- Lord, for Thy sake, not ours, supply our lacks, For Thine own sake, not ours, Christ, pity us.