Unto our cry of anguish and dispair

Give ear and pity! From the lonely homes,

Where widowed beggary and orphaned woe

Fill their poor urns with tears; from trampled plains,

Where the bright harvest Thou hast sent us rots--

The blood of them who should have garnered it

Calling to Thee--from fields of carnage, where

The foul-beaked vultures, sated, flap their wings

O'er crowded corpses, but that yesterday

Bore hearts of brother, beating high with love

And common hopes and pride, all blasted now--

Father of Mercies! not alone from these

Our prayer and wail are lifted. Not alone

Upon the battle's seared and desolate track!

Nor with the sword and flame, it is, O God,

That Thou hast smitten us. Around our hearths,

And in the crowded streets and busy marts,

Where echo whispers not of the far-off strife