90
SONGS OF EXILE
In sackcloth I will clothe and sable band,
For well-beloved by me
Were they whose lives were many as the sand—
The slain of thee.
I am astonied that the day's fair light
Yet shineth brilliantly
On all things:—it is ever dark as night
To me and thee.
Send with a bitter cry to God above
Thine anguish, nor withhold:
Ah! that He would remember yet His love,
His troth of old!
Gird on the sackcloth of thy misery
For that devouring fire,
Which burst forth ravenous on thine and thee
With wasting dire.
