The Hour of Prayer.
“Pregar, pregar, pregar,
Ch’ altro ponno i mortali al pianger nati?” Alfieri.
Child, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away;
Mother, with thine earnest eye
Ever following silently;
Father, by the breeze of eve
Call’d thy harvest-work to leave—
Pray: ere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart and bend the knee!
Traveller, in the stranger’s land,
Far from thine own household band;
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world gone;
Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell;
Sailor on the darkening sea—
Lift the heart and bend the knee!
Warrior, that from battle won
Breathest now at set of sun;
Woman, o’er the lowly slain
Weeping on his burial-plain;
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie,
Heaven’s first star alike ye see—
Lift the heart and bend the knee!