The poem
One day the Great Designer sought His Clerk of Birth and Death. Said he: "Two souls are in my thought, to whom I gave life-breath. I deemed my work was fitly done, But yester-eve I saw That in the finished brain of one There was a tiny flaw.
"It worried me, and I would know, Since I am all to blame, What happened to them down below, Of honour or of shame; For if the later did befall, My sorrow will be grave . . ." Then numbers astronomical unto the Clerk he gave.
The Keeper of the Rolls replied: "Of them I've little trace; But one he was a Prince of pride And one of lowly race. One was a Holy Saint proclaimed; For one no hell sufficed . . . . Let's see - the last was Nero named, The other . . . Jesus Christ."