To the Master
Oh, wherefore wert Thou crucified,
Thou Christ, the Son of God?
That the word of Truth be glorified?
Or that we good folks should ’scape the rod
Of avenging wrath, by faith confest?
Meanwhile of Thee we make a jest,
Mocking Thy love in our conduct’s test.
Cathedrals and chapels with Icons grand!
’Mid smoke of incense lavers stand.
There before Thy pictured Presence
Crowds unwearied make obeisance;
For spoil, for war, for slaughter seek
Their brother’s blood to shed they pray,
And then before Thy form so meek
The loot of burning towns they lay.