Than ever mortal man before,--
Yet, tho' I worship and adore,--
Woe's me!--and the heart of me_!"

And ever they came by the Potter's Field,
And thrust their bodies in,
And ever the sick earth spat them out,
Because of Iscariot's sin.

They sped along a palace-wall,
The feast waxed high inside,--
On Golgotha the Cross still stood,
The Cross where man had nailed his God,
Red was the Rood still with his blood,--
They drank--"_The Crucified_!"

The revel gashed the sombre night,
And fast the wine-cups plied,--
Time touched Eternity that day;--
God had come down to man that day;--
The world began anew that day;--
They drank--"_The Crucified_!"

And ever again to the Potter's Field,
The Souls in torment came,
But the black quag boiled and writhed and coiled,
And would have none of them.

And everywhere strange shapes of death
Walked in the fearsome gloom,