Our muttered prayer scarce made a sound,
The silence seemed to lap us round.
Above us, spread a soft blue sky
The south-west wind stole softly by,
It seemed a pleasant thing to die.
Yet fear for these gat hold of me,
And I prayed them very earnestly
To leave me, lest mishap might be.
With dropping tears and soul on rack,
I watched the last one leave the track,