Than to have dragged through endless time,
One long, unbroken trail of woe.
To suffer, yet not expiate;
To die at last, yet not atone;
To mourn our heirship to a guilt,
Erased by innocent blood alone!
You lift your hands in shocked surprise;
You say enough I have not prayed:
Can prayer go back through centuries,
And change the web of fate one braid?