THE SAD YEARS
COMFORT THE WOMEN
A Prayer in Time of War
Whence comes the rain that ceaselessly doth fall,
And seems to hold the bitter taste of tears?
Is it the lonely sorrow of the night
Where patient women shed their hopes and fears?
Where mothers' hearts, that are too brave to break,
Cry in the silence what they hid by day;
As from the tear-drenched pillow they arise,
Proud with the dawn, and shut their grief away?
Whence comes the rain? Is it from Angel eyes
That from the neutral plains of Heaven gaze
Upon this tortured earth? They hear us pray,
And see our strife, in pity and amaze;
Calling on Him, again so crucified,
In divers tongues each righteous cause to care;
Rage unto rage, hate unto hate, doth shake
The doors of Heaven with its impotent prayer.
