I came at last to Mesched. It was night.
The moon, half-shadowed, trailed its silver robe
Over the tower above the eastern gate,
And there revealed the outlines of a skull
Set on a spear. The portals were unbarred.
I passed the arch, but in the shadow kept,
While on the flinty wall I edged my knife.
Then I crept on until I gained the porch
Of the great palace. There I smote the guard,
And entering in, sought out the sleeping king.
Deep in his heart I plunged my thirsty knife.
All the next day I sat before the gate,
And begged, and heard the rumors of the town;
Then, standing forth, I claimed to be their king,
And told them all my story to the end.
None pitied the dead ruler, for he knew
No pity while he lived. So I was king at last;
But all my life, and all my hope to me
Are dust and ashes, knowing that God's frown
Abides upon me. Would that I could die!

There is no kindlier spirit than content.
And there is nothing better in the world
Than to do good, and trust in God for all.