Ballads of Battle/La Croix Rouge: A Wayside Calvary in Flanders
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LA CROIX ROUGE
A Wayside Calvary in Flanders.
Two thousand years since Christ was crucified;
Since thorn and nail did torment that frail flesh:
Again I see
Him hangéd on a tree,
And crucified afresh!
Since thorn and nail did torment that frail flesh:
Again I see
Him hangéd on a tree,
And crucified afresh!
Once more that darkness over all the land;
The graves—the graves are full—they give not up their dead:
The bitter cup
Is lifted up,
The crown pierces His head.
The graves—the graves are full—they give not up their dead:
The bitter cup
Is lifted up,
The crown pierces His head.
The scourging rod, the mocking reed are His,
The veritable Son of Man and God;
Through feet and hands
The iron stands,
The Cross is red with blood.
The veritable Son of Man and God;
Through feet and hands
The iron stands,
The Cross is red with blood.
Barabbas is released unto the World;
The thieves—the thieves are unrepentant both—
With swords and staves
A crowd of knaves
Come forth with jest and oath.
The thieves—the thieves are unrepentant both—
With swords and staves
A crowd of knaves
Come forth with jest and oath.
Again the brutal soldiery cast lots;
The earth is rent with wrath, and rack, and rue,
Comes like a sigh
That lonely cry:
"They know not what they do!"
The earth is rent with wrath, and rack, and rue,
Comes like a sigh
That lonely cry:
"They know not what they do!"
Thou Kaiser, who hast crucified thy Christ;
Judas, Pilatus, Peter—three in one!
Who shall it be
Shall say to thee:
Servant, thy work well done?
Judas, Pilatus, Peter—three in one!
Who shall it be
Shall say to thee:
Servant, thy work well done?
For thirty pieces Judas sold his Lord,
And Peter but denied his Master thrice;
And Pilate stands
With washen hands—
Princeling, what was thy price?
And Peter but denied his Master thrice;
And Pilate stands
With washen hands—
Princeling, what was thy price?
Better, O Cæsar—Caiaphas, High Priest,
With all thy servile Scribes and Pharisees—
Thou'dst ne'er been born
Than put to scorn
One of the least of these!
With all thy servile Scribes and Pharisees—
Thou'dst ne'er been born
Than put to scorn
One of the least of these!
Proud Kaiser, who has drowned the world in tears,
And deluged all the earth with reddest rain—
Christ's brow is torn
With crown of thorn—
Thine bears the brand of Cain!
And deluged all the earth with reddest rain—
Christ's brow is torn
With crown of thorn—
Thine bears the brand of Cain!
O King in name, who might have been in deed,
Who chose the darkness rather than the light:
I see thee go
Forth from thy foe—
And it is night!
Who chose the darkness rather than the light:
I see thee go
Forth from thy foe—
And it is night!