And marked with their blood every step of the way,
To conquer[865] this Southern land.
They are gone—O despair![866] she turns to the church,[867]
Half fainting, her fruit wet with tears;
“Perhaps de old Saint, who is always dere,
May wake up and take dem to pay for a prayer;
They are very sweet, as the saint will see,
If he would but wake up and listen to me.
But he sleeps, so he never hears.”