Ye hovering ghosts, that throng the starless air,
Why shakes the earth? Why fades the light? Declare!
Are those His limbs, with ruthless scourges torn?
His brows, all bleeding with the twisted thorn?
His the pale form, the meek, forgiving eye,
Raised from the cross in patient agony?
Bishop Heber.
DANGER.
Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment: