Bluegrass Ballads

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A grim, barbaric warrior* heard
How Christ was crucified; How meek and uncomplainingly
He bent His head and died. He heard, aghast, the dreadful tale,
Then seethed with wrath his brain: " Had I been there with three-score men,
The Christ had not been slain! "
As thus he spoke he fiercely grasped
The handle of his brand; In knots his brawny muscles stood And he austere and grand. " Where were His brave defenders then ?" The chieftain might have asked, Had he but longer in the light Of Christian knowledge basked— " Where, then, the zealous champions Who thousands since have slain— The * unbelievers' slaughtered By inquisitors in Spain, ■ And in ' Bloody Mary's ' reign ? "
As 'twas he questioned eagerly: " Where were the God-man's friends— They for whose immortal souls He bent His aims and ends ?