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.