While they who rob thee fling thee mocking down
An ancient Roman robe to hide thy loss,
That the world, seeing thy fair-seeming state,
Shall greet the Cæsar who gives thee such grace,
Nor heed the appealing sorrow in thy face,
Nor hear thy cry like His who at the gate
Of Jericho cried out! Bide thou thy day—
Thy Western children for thee weep and pray.
VII.
So once in Pilate’s hall thy Master stood