Relentless life, what shall we say to God

Who waits and watches? Shall we pray or curse,

Implore or threaten? Can we move Him thus?

Burn not the lightnings yet in His right hand

With which He struck us to confusion once?

And laughs He not in thunderbolts the same

As once pursued our howling flight to Hell?

Befits it rather, think ye not, my hosts,

That we should send on high in one accord

A mighty threnody—a hymn of Hell,

[6]

Inspired by pain and sung in bitterest woe,

As our best offering,—and await His word?"

He ceased, and for the moment all was still;

Then plaintive as the rhythmic dawn of stars

Upon a night of sorrow, rose a strain

Of lamentation, such as when the sea

Makes moan unto an earthquake's inward throes.

Then circling outward passed the rising tones

Of that sad minstrelsy, and then again

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