Part II

The World pressed toward its Jericho, The goal of its desire-- Its marts, its pleasures and its shrines Its dreams of great empire.

A hoard of gold it bore along To barter and to buy. But on the road, by thieves beset, It, too, was left to die.

The Son of God came down that way To succour and to save, To bind its wounds, to heal its sin To lift it from the grave.

Lo! He too, went upon His way When He had paid the price. Marked by the red red lines that make The Cross of Sacrifice.

Where all the woe of all the world Upon His heart had lain And all the sin of earth pressed sore There gleamed that double stain.

And now we cannot name His name Who is the Lord of Heaven, Without a thought of that symbol By love and pity given.

Now onward to our Jericho We press with bated breath. For evil grows the way, and dark. On every hand stalks death.