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. . . .