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Thou kind and merciful!—My soul is faint— Worn with long strife!—Is there aught else to do, Or suffer, ere we die?—Oh God! my sons! —I have betray'd them!—All their innocent blood Is on my soul!

How shall I comfort thee? —Oh! hark! what sounds come deepening on the wind, So full of solemn hope!

A sword is on the land! He that bears down young tree and glorious flower, Death is gone forth, he walks the wind in power! —Where is the warrior's hand? Our steps are in the shadows of the grave, Hear us, we perish! Father, hear, and save!

If, in the days of song, The days of gladness, we have call'd on thee, When mirthful voices rang from sea to sea, And joyous hearts were strong;