An Atheist in Heaven
Upon my death, should my beliefs attest
To be so wrong,
And should my doubting self yet house a soul;
Which lurks obscure until eternal rest
Proves not so long,
Then rises up when summoned to extol,
And give account of faith, and weigh agenst
A common mark;
Then let it hold no shame and hold no fear.
And should my final form be then dispensed
Unto the dark,
Still my whole life was loving and sincere.