Less Shame A Greater Fault Would Palliate.

And We Came Forth To Contemplate The Stars.

O Conscience, Upright And Stainless, How Bitter A Sting To Thee Is A Little Fault!

O You Proud Christians, Wretched Souls And Small,/ Who By The Dim Lights Of Your Twisted Minds/ Believe You Prosper Even As You Fall,/ Can You Not See That We Are Worms, Each One/ Born To Become The Angelic Butterfly/ That Flies Defenseless To The Judgement Throne?

Ah! Justice Of Our God! Who Else Could Stow Such Travails New And Pains As Met My Glance!

The Infernal Storm, Eternal In Its Rage, Sweeps And Drives The Spirits With Its Blast; It Whirls Them, Lashing Them With Punishment. When They Are Swept Back Past Their Place Of Judgment Then Come The Shrieks, Laments, And Anguished Cries; There They Blaspheme God's Almighty Power.