Lift up my eyes to those I have made weep
So many bitter tears—
Blan. You see, my son,
You keep them weeping still—not bitter tears,
But tears of joy—Oh, welcome home again!
Vic. Where is there any room for a poor devil
Who has done penance upon rock and water
This many a day, and much repents him of
His former sins?
Urr. What you alive too?