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The chief priests and rulers cry:—
"O Lord and Master, not ours the guilt,
We build but as our fathers built;
Behold thine images how they stand
Sovereign and sole through all our land.
"Our task is hard—with sword and flame,
To hold thine earth forever the same.
And with sharp crooks of steel to keep,
Still as thou leftest them, thy sheep."
Then Christ sought out an artisan,
A low-browed, stunted, haggard man.
And a motherless girl whose fingers thin
Crushed from her faintly want and sin.
These set he in the midst of them.
And as they drew back their garment hem
For fear of defilement, "Lo, here," said he,
"The images ye have made of me."
