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A SOLDIER'S PRAYER 115
Defiled and maimed, the merciful on vigil all
the time, Pitying his children's wrath, their passion and
their crime. Mute, mute He hangs upon His Cross, the
symbol of His pain, And as men scourged Him long ago, they
scourge Him once again— There in the lonely war-lit night to Christ the
Lord I call, " Forgive the ones who work Thee harm. O
Lord, forgive us all." |
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