Beneath my feet ten thousand children dead -- Oh! how I loved each known and nameless one! Above their dust I bow my crownless head And murmur: Father, still Thy will be done. Ah! Father, Thou didst deck my own loved land With all bright charms, and beautiful and fair; But foeman came, and with a ruthless hand, Spread ruin, wreck, and desolation there. Girdled with gloom, of all my brightness shorn, And garmented with grief, I kiss Thy rod, And turn my face, with tears all wet and worn, To catch one smile of pity from my God. Around me blight, where all before was bloom, And so much lost, alas! and nothing won Save this -- that I can lean on wreck and tomb And weep, and weeping, pray Thy will be done. And oh! 'tis hard to say, but said, 'tis sweet; The words are bitter, but they hold a balm -- A balm that heals the wounds of my defeat, And lulls my sorrow into holy calm. It is the prayer of prayers, and how it brings, When heard in heaven, peace and hope to me! When Jesus prayed it did not angels' wings Gleam 'mid the darkness of Gethsemane? My children, Father, Thy forgiveness need; Alas! their hearts have only place for tears! Forgive them, Father, ev'ry wrongful deed, And every sin of those four bloody years; And give them strength to bear their boundless loss, And from their hearts take every thought of hate; And while they climb their Calvary with their cross, Oh! help them, Father, to endure its weight. And for my dead, my Father, may I pray? Ah! sighs may soothe, but prayer shall soothe me more! I keep eternal watch above their clay; Oh! rest their souls, my Father, I implore; Forgive my foes -- they know not what they do -- Forgive them all the tears they made me shed; Forgive them, though my noblest sons they slew, And bless them, though they curse my poor, dear dead. Oh! may my woes be each a carrier dove, With swift, white wings, that, bathing in my tears, Will bear Thee, Father, all my prayers of love, And bring me peace in all my doubts and fears. Father, I kneel, 'mid ruin, wreck, and grave -- A desert waste, where all was erst so fair -- And for my children and my foes I crave Pity and pardon. Father, hear my prayer! Feast of the Assumption "A Night Prayer" Dark! Dark! Dark! The sun is set; the day is dead: Thy Feast has fled; My eyes are wet with tears unshed; I bow my head; Where the star-fringed shadows softly sway I bend my knee, And, like a homesick child, I pray, Mary, to thee. Dark! Dark! Dark! And, all the day -- since white-robed priest In farthest East, In dawn's first ray -- began the Feast, I -- I the least -- Thy least, and last, and lowest child, I called on thee! Virgin! didst hear? my words were wild; Didst think of me?