Canst thou, Marina, leave the world,
The word that is devotion's bane
Where crowns are toss'd, and sceptres hurl'd,
Where Lust and proud Ambition reign?

Canst thou thy costly robes forbear
To live with us in poor attire?
Canst thou from courts to cells repair
To sing at midnight in our choir?

Can you forget your golden beds
Where you might sleep beyond the morn,
On mats to lay your royal heads,
And have your beauteous tresses shorn?

Can you resolve to fast all day,
And weep and groan to be forgiv'n?
Can you in broken slumbers pray,
And by affliction merit heaven?

Say, votaries, can this be done
While we the grace divine implore,
The world has lost, the battle's won,
And sin shall never, never charm you more?