The shadow side of sin, ironically,
Is virtue, though that’s often hard to see,
And yet it gives our vices an excuse
And makes seem worthy what in truth’s abuse:
Our Anger’s simply righteous indignation,
Our Lust is only love in full elation,
Our Sloth is but content serenity,
And robust appetite’s not Gluttony.
Envy is ambition misconstrued,
And Greed’s just bounty in an eager mood.
The worst of all our vices we call Pride,
Yet who would wholesome self-esteem deride?
No wonder, given such perplexity,
That we’re bound fast by what should set us free.