By H. Wells
Ashura Poem
Pitched upon the scorching desert, The tent of Husain lay, Encompassed around with Satan's hounds Upon that black sad day. They numbered less than eighty strong, women and children too, While Yazid's thousands stood around. Driven away from the cooling stream, His children waiting for water. Awaiting with patience extremely sublime Like sheep for the butcher's slaughter. Oh! How valiantly fought that pitiful few, Against Yazid's wild murderers, Fought with a courage unequalled in time Fought with a fierceness that was surely divine. The earth quaked and trembled as noon drew near. But still the survivors knew no fear But fewer grew that pitiful band, For Islam, God, and Husain they stand. At last, all were dead, the devil had won, Trampled and torn lay the gallant Husain, For Islam, God, and the faithful were slain.