Let that come when it comes; all hope is lost

Of my reception into grace; what worse?

For where no hope is left is left no fear;

If there be worse, the expectation more

Of worse torments me than the feeling can.

I would be at the worst; worst is my port, My harbour, and my ultimate repose,

The end I would attain, my final good.

My error was my error, and my crime

My crime; whatever, for itself condemned,

And will alike be punished, whether thou

Reign or reign not–

Whispering makes a narrow place narrower.

God's first language is Silence. Everything else is a translation.