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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.