By FRANK HORNE
Tis fitting that you be here,
Little brown boys
With Christ-like eyes
And curling hair.
Look you on yon crucifix
Where He hangs nailed and pierced
With head hung low
And eyes a' blind with blood that drips
From a thorny crown . . .
Look you well,
You shall know this thing.
Judas' kiss shall burn your cheek
And you will be denied
By your Peter --
And Gethsemane . . .
You shall know full well
Gethsemane . . .
You, too, will suffer under Pontius Pilate
And feel the rugged cut of rough hewn cross
Upon your surging shoulder --
They will spit in your face
And laugh . . .
They will nail you up twixt thieves
And gamble for your little garments.
And in this you will exceed God
For on this earth
You shall know Hell --
O little brown boys
With Christ-like eyes
And curling hair
It is fitting that you be here.