Proudly bent on its course

And cruel in its speed,

Thy car was whirling on.

My frail form was crushed unto death.

Beneath the chariot wheels,

And streams of blood gushed forth.

Thy car, divinely bright, stopped not a moment

In hesitation that aught impeded its progress;

Nor did it veer round to note the sudden wail

That went up from my bruised heart.

At early dawn, dread Lord, Thy charioteer

Will wash the blood-stains from off Thy chariot wheels,

But, how from amongst the blood-stains of millions

Wilt Thou spot out mine?