| The same dull town, the same dark street, | And scorched within the fires of hell, |
| The market square where women meet. | Have gazed on deeds no tongue can tell. |
| The same old church, where people pray | Heaven's highest peaks, too, have I trod |
| And worship in the same old way. | And seen, in man, the face of God -- |
| The same -- O God! -- it can not be | And all the time walk in the street |
| The same again to men like me! | The ghosts of those I used to greet -- |
| Through mists of blood I've seen the skies, | The same! Ah, no! 'Twill never be |
| While anguish gleamed from human eyes -- | The same again to men like me. |
