The child lay,
Lifeless on the once green home;
Plague most henious,
By them on high, brought.
Trees mourned the dark day,
Gra** bowed, in silence,
Prayer. Uttered,
From the lips of the lost;
Lift up that child,
Find rest eternal,
But not here;
Hopefully . . .
The Sun wishes not,
To reveal His secret,
Clouds meet, whisper,
Of sins, most foul they are;
They weep, for poor Mother,
Child of Hers, purity lost,
In Her hands, finally peaceful slumber.
Ash loves this land,
Robs the living,
Please! Spare me a drop!
This Drop for the Damned,
Dear God I pray Thee!
Bring unto us life everlasting,
Tell us the secret.
A Drop please spare for the lesser;
Lest me meet the Forever Flame. . . .