THE time has come. The waiting populace
Breathlessly watch him as he slowly mounts
The scaffold. Though his timid, trembling steps
Betoken fear, with calm and steady gaze
He sees my whole above his head. So bright!
So glittering! On that his eyes are fixed.
Garbed all in white, a rope about his waist,
My first upon his feet; silent, although
He suffers agonies untold. But hark!
He calls for drink. By some kind hand is passed
To him a brimming tumbler, and within
He sees my last and he is glad. He drinks,
Then once again turns to my whole. Brave man!
He fears not death, but murmurs to himself:
“This only I desire, that when I die
Men say I did my work and did it well.”