By W. C. Tailor:

An Ode

Tell me friends what shall you say

On the awful Judgment Day

When Mohammad asks you where

Are those trusted to you care?

Dearer than a thousand lives?

Bound by many a fastening chain

Some in dungeons dark remain,

On Kerbala’s barren strand

Others lie, a reaking band.

Torn with wounds and stain’d with mud

Weltering in their own heart’s blood.

When before the Judgment seat

You the Holy Prophet meet,

He shall ask. If thus you show

The gratitude you justly owe,

For all the benefits bestow’d

By whom whose bounty freely flow’d.

So may the hope of new ages

Comfort the mystic pain

That cries from the ancient silence

Ali! Hassan! Hussain!