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50 To see my queen sink lower than the brutes, And know it was my hand had dragged her down, And know that I had done it, I, alone ! " Then he arose, and followed afar off. The daylight waned, and shadows, gaunt and still, Crept in, and darkly filled my cousins' place, Until, for cowardice, I cried aloud. Then Agnes came, and said that all was well, And shared with me a sudden rain of tears, Quick dried as thunder showers ; then, like a bird, That sings its fluttered nestlings into rest, She softly sang an ancient British hymn : — " Holy Father, God most tender, We, Thy children, cry to Thee ; Let Thy light shine through our darkness, Till our earth-blind eyes shall see ; See the thread that guides our wanderings, See the hand that holds us free. Holy Father, hear our cry ! " Holy Father, we poor lambkins Out of bitter woe do bleat ; Strong men drive us o'er the mountains Sharpest stones do pierce our feet,