Classic Poem

I

As Christ for those who knew not what they did,
So these your sons, for you their mother died.
Now in that wondrous gift your guilt lies hid,
And in their blood your blame stands sanctified.

O Land, behold your sons! O Sons, behold
Your mother! Her proud heart, pierced by the sword,
Still bleeds for you: still to the blood-stained mould
She stoops her eyes — but looks not at her Lord.

II

The Lord of Life, upon the day He died
For love, between two thieves hung crucified.
Of whom, with bitter railing, one spake thus:
" If Thou be Christ, now save Thyself and us! "
The other said: " Alike condemned we be,
And suffer justly for our sins; but He
Nothing hath done amiss. Remember me,
Lord, in Thy kingdom come! " Whereat his eyes,
By pure humility and love made wise,
Saw out of Hell the gates of Paradise.
Now, of these twain, ye that would pray take heed,
And choose the prayer most fitted to your need!
Above the embattled nations Love still stands;
And to both sides He stretches out His hands.