Their murderous hands, against their father’s life,
Against their benefactor and their friend!
Whose soul was ever gentleness and love,
Who would have gathered ’neath our glorious flag,
E’en as a hen doth gather her young brood
Beneath her wings, his own rebellious sons,
But they would not! Behold him stark and stiff,
The innocent one, the guileless and the just,
Who for our sins has drunk this bitter cup!
Oh, had it passed away and he been spared!