Indifferent to life and death,
She heedeth not our hopes or fears;
Our days seem bounded by a breath;—
Why should she note our smiles or tears.
From depths of sorrow manifold
We call, and, weeping, wait reply;—
No answer comes from wood or wold,
And silent are the sea and sky.
O pitying Christ, to Thee we turn,
In loneliest grief uncomforted;