MY cure of souls, my cage of brutes, <br />Go lick and learn at these my boots! <br />When tainted highways tear a hole, <br />I bid my cobbler welt the sole. <br />O, ye that wear the boots of Hell, <br />Shall I not welt a soul as well? <br />O, souls that leak with holes of sin, <br />Shall I not let God's leather in, <br />Or hit with sacramental knout <br />Your twice-convicted vileness out? <br />Lord, I have sung with ceaseless lips <br />A tinker's litany of whips, <br />Have graved another Testament <br />On backs bowed down and bodies bent. <br />My stripes of jewelled blood repeat <br />A scarlet Grace for holy meat. <br />Not mine, the Hand that writes the weal <br />On this, my vellum of puffed veal, <br />Not mine, the glory that endures, <br />But Yours, dear God, entirely Yours. <br />Are there not Saints in holier skies <br />Who have been scourged to Paradise? <br />O, Lord, when I have come to that, <br />Grant there may be a Heavenly Cat <br />With twice as many tails as here— <br />And make me, God, Your Overseer. <br />But if the veins of Saints be dead, <br />Grant me a whip in Hell instead, <br />Where blood is not so hard to fetch. <br />But I, Lord, am Your humble wretch.<br /><br />Kenneth Slessor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vesper-song-of-the-reverend-samuel-marsden/
