To die in silence, winning so some loss,
Perchance, unto two lives. Sweet Mother, pray
That soul accuse not mine on judgment day!
III.
So strange and sad the simple question seemed;
As if on those far hills God’s voice had built,
Upon those souls for whom his blood was spilt
Some shadow rested, amid which scarce gleamed
The mournful splendor by his dark Cross thrown:
As if stern life grew but more hard and bare,