It Was the Road to Jericho

Johnston Annie F. Annie Fellows

It Was the Road to Jericho

It Was the Road to Jericho

It was the road to Jericho,And brave indeed the manWho went alone and waited notTo join the caravan.For robber hoards swooped down the cliffsLike eagles on their prey,And mercy was not known to them,Theirs but to kill and slay.Along the road to JerichoA man went riding by,He heard a groan of mortal pain,He heard a piercing cry.He got him down from off his beast,He found the one who bled,The thieves had bruised and beaten himAnd left him well nigh dead(The Levite and the priest had passed,The calls to them were vain).He bound his wounds. With oil and wineHe eased the grevious pain.Then to the inn he carried himAnd paid the keeper's price,As one who does a deed for love,Nor counts it sacrifice.Lo, as he passed upon his way,His robe it showed a stain —Two red marks on his white sleeve, whereThe bleeding head had lain.One, made in pity when he stoopedTo lift the wounded up,The other, when in love he bentTo offer him the cup.Two red, red lines which made a cross,And marked him as the manWhose name is, till the end of time"The good Samaritan."

Part II

The World pressed toward its Jericho,The goal of its desire —Its marts, its pleasures and its shrinesIts dreams of great empire.A hoard of gold it bore alongTo barter and to buy.But on the road, by thieves beset,It, too, was left to die.The Son of God came down that wayTo succour and to save,To bind its wounds, to heal its sinTo lift it from the grave.Lo! He too, went upon His wayWhen He had paid the price.Marked by the red red lines that makeThe Cross of Sacrifice.Where all the woe of all the worldUpon His heart had lainAnd all the sin of earth pressed soreThere gleamed that double stain.And now we cannot nameHis nameWho is the Lord of Heaven,Without a thought of that symbolBy love and pity given.Now onward to our JerichoWe press with bated breath.For evil grows the way, and dark.On every hand stalks death.

Part III

The robber hoards that strip and slayTake more than gold, forsooth,They kill our holiest of Hopes —They take all Love – all Youth!They smite the mother and the maid —The babe that cries unfed,And little children, sore afraidSob in the night for breadOh, who shall staunch such world-wide woe —Such universe of pain?And who has oil and wine enough?And must they cry in vain?Nay! On the road to JerichoThere be a million now,Who bear Christ's pity in their hearts,His sign upon their brow.And millions more shall follow themTo bind and to restore.Till all the highway is made safeAnd war shall be no more.Now God give grace to all who hearAnd may His love sufficeTo blaze upon each heart each dayThe Cross of Sacrifice