GONE THE LIONS
For pride and place, for power’s spell,
For thirty bits of silver,
We galloped through the gates of hell,
Chanting — ‘There’s no Forever!’
‘Gone the lions far from home,
Gone the Christian martyrs!
Gone the purple popes of Rome,
Gone the Stabat Maters!’
‘Where, now, Jerusalem the Golden
And the cries on Calvary?
What mother now weeps for her son,
Her Son nailed to a Tree?’