UNREDEEMED.

I SAW the Christ down from His cross,

A tragic man lean-limbed and tall,

But weighed with suffering and loss.

His back was to a broken wall,

And out upon the tameless world

Was fixed His gaze His piercing eye

Beheld the towns to ruin hurled,

And saw the storm of death pass by.

Two thousand years it was since first

He offered to the race of men

His sovran boon, As one accurst

They nailed Him to the jibbet then,

And while they mocked Him for their mirth

He smiled, and from the hill of pain

To all the hating tribes of earth

Held forth His wondrous gift again.

To-day the thorns were on His brow,

His grief was deeper than before.

From ravaged field and city now

Arose the screams and reek of war.

The black smoke parted. Through the rift

God's sun fell on the boody lands.

Christ wept, for still His priceless gift

He held within His wounded hands.