I OUT of the sombre shadows, Over the sunlit grass, Slow in a sad procession The shadowy pageants pass Mournful, majestic, and solemn, Stricken and pale and dumb, Crowned in their peerless anguish The sacred martyrs come. Hark, from the brooding silence Breaks the wild cry of pain Wrung from the heart of the ages @3Ali! Hassan! Hussain!@1 |