heartless thing?
_Ah! Christ of all the Pities!_

Forgive the thought! Forgive these wild, blasphemous words. Thou art still
the God of our black fathers, and in Thy soul's soul sit some soft
darkenings of the evening, some shadowings of the velvet night.

But whisper--speak--call, great God, for Thy silence is white terror to
our hearts! The way, O God, show us the way and point us the path.

Whither? North is greed and South is blood; within, the coward, and
without, the liar. Whither? To death?
_Amen! Welcome dark sleep!_

Whither? To life? But not this life, dear God, not this. Let the cup pass
from us, tempt us not beyond our strength, for there is that clamoring and
clawing within, to whose voice we would not listen, yet shudder lest we
must, and it is red, Ah! God! It is a red and awful shape.
_Selah!_

In yonder East trembles a star.
_Vengeance is mine; I mill repay, saith the Lord!_

Thy will, O Lord, be done!
_Kyrie Eleison!_

Lord, we have done these pleading, wavering words.
_We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord!_

We bow our heads and hearken soft to the sobbing of women and little