The Brand of Cain

I bear upon my brow the sign
  Of sorrow and of pain;
Alas! no hopeful cross is mine,
  It is the brand of Cain.

The course of passion, and the fret
  Of godless hope and fear⁠—
Toil, care, and guilt⁠—their hues have set,
  And fix’d their sternness there.

Saviour! wash out the imprinted shame;
  That I no more may pine,
Sin’s martyr, though not meet to claim
  Thy cross, a saint of Thine.