Are silent of those hidden graves.
Yet what if no light footstep there
In pilgrim-love and awe repair,
So let it be! Like him, whose clay
Deep buried by his Maker lay,
They sleep in secret,—but their sod,
Unknown to man, is mark’d of God!
THE HOUR OF PRAYER.
“Pregar, pregar, pregar,
Ch’ altro ponno i mortali al pianger nati?” Alfieri.