The third road was the fair high way, trod by the good and great.
I cried aloud to that vast crowd, and told my hapless fate.
They hurried all through door and wall and shut Convention’s gate.
I beat it with my bleeding hands: they must have heard me knock.
They must have heard wild sob and word, yet no one turned the lock.
Oh, it is very desolate, on Virtue’s path to stand,
And see the good folks flocking by, withholding look and hand.
And so with hungry heart and soul, and weary brain and feet,
I left that highway whence you came, and sought the sinful street.
O prudent one, O spotless one, when good folks speak of me,
Go, tell them of the roads I came; the road ways fair, and three.