When God some day shall call my name
And scorch me with a blaze of shame,
Bringing to light my inmost thought
And all the evil I have wrought,
Tearing away the veils I wove
To hide my foulness from my love,
And leaving my transgressions bare
To the whole heaven's clear, cold air —
When all the angels weep to see
The branded, outcast soul of me,
One saint at least will hide her face —
She will not look at my disgrace.
“At least, O God, O God Most High,
He loved me truly!” she will cry,
And God will pause before He send
My soul to find its fitting end.
Then, lest heaven's light should leave her face
To think one loved her and was base,
I will speak out at judgment day —
“I never loved her!” I will say.