1.
'The fault was mine, the fault was mine' -- 
Why am I sitting here so stunn'd and still,
Plucking the harmless wild-flower on the hill? -- 
It is this guilty hand! -- 
And there arises ever a passionate cry
 ... 
A cry for a brother's blood:
It will ring in my heart and my ears, till I die, till I die.

2.
Is it gone? my pulses beat -- 
What was it? a lying trick of the brain?
Yet I thought I saw her stand,
A shadow there at my feet,
High over the shadowy land.
It is gone; and the heavens fall in a gentle rain,
When they should burst and drown with deluging storms
The feeble vassals of wine and anger and lust,
The little hearts that know not how to forgive:
Arise, my God, and strike, for we hold Thee just,
Strike dead the whole weak race of venomous worms,
That sting each other here in the dust;
We are not worthy to live.