The toiler bore too long in mute despair—
Too patiently the whips of callous greed.
By crushing burdens numbed, by cruel need.
His heart long dead to hope, would no more dare
Adventure's aid—for help look anywhere;
While those his toil enriched left him to bleed
Where they had crucified him—took no heed,
But nailed him to the rood, and left him there.

Then down the roads of agony that gird
With tragic lines the goings of our life;
Stronger than wail of pain or noise of strife,
An echo of Golgotha's cry was heard—
Your moan of deathless song. Then was unfurled
The flag whose folds of Love shall heal the world.