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There was a man—a Jew of kingly blood, But of the people—poor and lowly born, Accused of blasphemy of God, He stood Before the Roman Pilate, while in scorn The multitude demanded it was fit That one should suffer for the people, while Another be released, absolved, acquit, To live his life out virtuous or vile.

"Whom will ye have—Barabbas or this Jew?" Pilate made answer to the mob, "The choice Is yours; I wash my hands of this, and you, Do as you will." With one vast ribald voice The populace arose and, shrieking, cried, "Give us Barabbas, we condone his deeds!" And He of Nazareth was crucified— Misjudged, condemned, dishonoured for their needs.

And down these nineteen centuries anew Comes the hoarse-throated, brutalized refrain, "Give us Barabbas, crucify the Jew!" Once more a man must bear a nation's stain,—