And touched her father, mother, even now
Grim-hovering in her home,
Where fevered lay
Her wasting brother in a cold, bleak room,
Which theirs would be no longer than a day,
And then—the streets and doom.
Lord! Lord! Dear Lord!
I knew that life was bitter, but my soul
Recoiled, as anguish-smitten by sharp sword,
Grieving such body’s dole.