The church of Hagenau, that night,
Was full of people, full of light;
An odor of incense filled the air,
The priest intoned, the organ groaned
Its inarticulate despair;
The candles on the altar blazed,
And full in front of it upraised
The red cross stood against the glare. 
Below, upon the altar-rail
Indulgences were set to sale,
Like ballads at a country fair. 
A heavy strong-box, iron-bound
And carved with many a quaint device,
Received, with a melodious sound,
The coin that purchased Paradise.

Then from the pulpit overhead,
Tetzel the monk, with fiery glow,
Thundered upon the crowd below. 
“Good people all, draw near!” he said;
“Purchase these letters, signed and sealed,
By which all sins, though unrevealed
And unrepented, are forgiven! 
Count but the gain, count not the loss
Your gold and silver are but dross,
And yet they pave the way to heaven. 
I hear your mothers and your sires
Cry from their purgatorial fires,
And will ye not their ransom pay? 
O senseless people! when the gate
Of heaven is open, will ye wait? 
Will ye not enter in to-day? 
To-morrow it will be too late;
I shall be gone upon my way. 
Make haste! bring money while ye may!’

The women shuddered, and turned pale;
Allured by hope or driven by fear,
With many a sob and many a tear,
All crowded to the altar-rail. 
Pieces of silver and of gold
Into the tinkling strong-box fell
Like pebbles dropped into a well;
And soon the ballads were all sold. 
The cobbler’s wife among the rest
Slipped into the capacious chest
A golden florin; then withdrew,
Hiding the paper in her breast;
And homeward through the darkness went
Comforted, quieted, content;
She did not walk, she rather flew,
A dove that settles to her nest,
When some appalling bird of prey
That scared her has been driven away.

The days went by, the monk was gone,
The summer passed, the winter came;
Though seasons changed, yet still the same
The daily round of life went on;
The daily round of household care,
The narrow life of toil and prayer. 
But in her heart the cobbler’s dame
Had now a treasure beyond price,
A secret joy without a name,
The certainty of Paradise. 
Alas, alas!  Dust unto dust! 
Before the winter wore away,
Her body in the churchyard lay,
Her patient soul was with the Just! 
After her death, among the things
That even the poor preserve with care,—­
Some little trinkets and cheap rings,
A locket with her mother’s hair,
Her wedding gown, the faded flowers
She wore upon her wedding day,—­
Among these memories of past hours,
That so much of the heart reveal,
Carefully kept and put away,
The Letter of Indulgence lay
Folded, with signature and seal.