The hands of evil have been on your life
Since when, at signal from the stars, I sowed
It 'mid the lilies. Beauteous was it rife
Till hands of evil wrecked the fair abode.
Unto the Lord I said: “From mortal paths
Oh let them bear him,—spirit without guide—;
Save him, O Saviour, from the grip of wraths,
And plunge him in the dream Thine arms provide!”
Lament is vain—in vain I strive to follow;
Black is the tempest that drives on his sail;
My breast for him, or mow away his flower!—
Woe! Woe!—the seas his bark of roses swallow—
Is pity in my heart of no avail?—
Thou that shalt judge me, Lord, speak
Thou this hour!