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 Men that mocked Thee to Thy face,

Fools who took Thy name in vain —

Grant that in this deadly place

Jests and blasphemy remain.

On the pallid face of death,

Gasping slow and painfully

Curses with its latest breath.

Miserere Domine.

Where we see the men we know

Rags of broken flesh and bone,

And the thing that hurt them so

Seems to wait for us alone.

Where the silence of the grave

Broods and threatens soundlessly,

On the souls we cannot save,

Miserere Domine.