Kitabı oku: «It Was the Road to Jericho», sayfa 4

 
Upon His heart had lain
And all the sin of earth pressed sore
There gleamed that double stain.
 
 
And now we cannot name
His nameWho is the Lord of Heaven,
Without a thought of that symbol
By love and pity given.
 
 
Now onward to our Jericho
We press with bated breath.
For evil grows the way, and dark.
On every hand stalks death.
 

Part III

 
The robber hoards that strip and slay
Take more than gold, forsooth,
They kill our holiest of Hopes —
They take all Love – all Youth!
 
 
They smite the mother and the maid —
The babe that cries unfed,
And little children, sore afraid