His grieved disciples raised a wail, a serenade:
“Great evil’s lighted on us! Ah! Beloved One!
We’re orphans made; our parent, thou, away art gone!
Raise not such pretext; push us not to our wit’s end.
We sob and sigh; we beat our breasts. Do comfort send!
Thou’st pampered, spoilt us with thy wondrous eloquence;
With doctrine from thy lips our souls cannot dispense.
Torment us not, for God’s sake! Pity on us take!
Be kind! This day, ‘To-morrow’ say not; to us wake!250
Our hearts are rapt in thee; no heart in us remains.