King. Upon my foes rest that dread curse of guilt!

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Yet without harm I cannot succour you,

Nor gives it pleasure to reject your prayers.

In a sore strait am I; fear fills my soul

To take the chance, to do or not to do.

Antistrophe II

Chor. Look thou on Him who looks on all from heaven,

Guardian of suffering men

Who, worn with toil, unto their neighbours come