A Fragment of a Poem

The Penitentiary

Israel spent 40 years en route to the promised land,
the Church has hit 2,000.
In old age we sojourn,
singing the Lord's song in a strange land.

Inmates of the one holy, catholic, apostolic penitentiary,
we the penitent, convicted of sin, declare God's judgment just.

Dwelling in this house of reformation,
till the length of our sentence is through,
and our house of correction becomes a mansion in glory.