But hark ! the Moolah strikes the chant !
The mourners cease their piercing plaint.
"Allah is great ! His will be done !" —
So did the solemn chorus run —
"Allah is gracious, He doth give !
Is wise, He taketh when he will !
Good at His hand shall we receive,
And murmur when He sendeth ill ?
Let for the child our sorrows cease !
May Allah keep his soul in peace !"
While thus of mingled prayer and praise
The measured hymn to Heaven they raise,
With regular but rapid tread
To his last rest they bear the dead.
Too long the parted soul doth wait
At the dark grave for her lost mate !
There the crushed bud with tearful rite
They hide forever from their sight.