Wring my heart with the passion of infinite pain.
Come cries from the city thine anger hath burned,
Come cries from the people thy hatred hath spurned,
Come cries from the widows, made widows by thee,
Come cries from the mothers, made childless by thee,
From the king, now blind, as by thee ordained,
From thine altar, by thine own self profaned;
From the earth, from the air, the message is sent;
As I hearken, with anguish my bowels are rent;
Appeals from the living, appeals from the dead;