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Stood they about and raised no hand
To stay the murd'rous deed? Where were their love and fortitude
In this high time of need ? And where the healed in sight and limb,
Who sought the Nazarene, And touched His garments full of faith
That this would make them clean ?"
" We are fighting yet His holy cause,"
A churchman stoutly said: " His name shall be our Shibboleth,
Till all his foes are dead." And yet the grim barbarian
Clutched hard his sword and cried, " Had I been there with three-score men
Christ Jesus had not died—
He'd not been crucified! "
HERE'S TO YOU, MY BROTHER.
My friend and I—I love him— God bless the skies above him,
Wherever 'neath their azure he may be— We were lads the time I speak of, And now we hear the creak of
The frost that chills the branches of life's tree.