Knowing not the quantity nor precise degree of my sinning,
And advised to abandon all antiquated notions of guilt,
I atone for the sin of omission:
That I know not where my Lord resides
Nor in whose house I dwell,
That I know not, all else besides,
The dimensions of Heaven, the volume of Hell.
That I rear in wanton heresies
One younger than I, less innocent,
Whose perception of oracular verities
Is unmoved by pragmatic cant.
Atone, further, that between myself and His green world
Cataracting walls obscure bright earth from me,
Separate you from me, and Him, and cleave from the furled
Banner of my former self, my very atonement on this Day.