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 Sob in the night for bread |
Oh, who shall staunch such world-wide woe— Such universe of pain? And who has oil and wine enough? And must they cry in vain? |
Nay! On the road to Jericho There be a million now, Who bear Christ's pity in their hearts, His sign upon their brow. |
And millions more shall follow them To bind and to restore. Till all the highway is made safe And war shall be no more. |
Now God give grace to all who hear And may His love suffice To blaze upon each heart each day The Cross of Sacrifice |