My children! we are summon’d. Lay your heads,
In their young radiant beauty, once again
To rest upon this bosom. He that dwells
Beyond the clouds which press us darkly round,
Will yet have pity, and before His face
We three will stand together! Moslem! now
Let the stroke fall at once!
Abd. ’Tis thine own will.
These might e’en yet be spared.
Elm. Thou wilt not spare!