It was the Road to Jericho [Illustration] [Illustration] It was the Road to Jericho By Annie Fellows Johnston Author of The Little Colonel· The Desert of Waiting· Etc. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN R NEILL NEW YORK BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY [Illustration] Copyright 1919 by Annie Fellows Johnston [Illustration] [Illustration] It Was the Road to Jericho It was the road to Jericho, And brave indeed the man Who went alone and waited not To join the caravan. For robber hoards swooped down the cliffs Like eagles on their prey, And mercy was not known to them, Theirs but to kill and slay. [Illustration] Along the road to Jericho A man went riding by, He heard a groan of mortal pain, He heard a piercing cry. [Illustration] He got him down from off his beast, He found the one who bled, The thieves had bruised and beaten him And 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 wine He eased the grevious pain. Then to the inn he carried him And 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, where The bleeding head had lain. One, made in pity when he stooped To lift the wounded up, The other, when in love he bent To offer him the cup. [Illustration] Two red, red lines which made a cross, And marked him as the man Whose name is, till the end of time "The good Samaritan." Part II [Illustration] The World pressed toward its Jericho, The goal of its desire-- Its marts, its pleasures and its shrines Its dreams of great empire. A hoard of gold it bore along To barter and to buy. But on the road, by thieves beset, It, too, was left to die. The Son of God came down that way To succour and to save, To bind its wounds, to heal its sin To lift it from the grave. Lo! He too, went upon His way When He had paid the price. Marked by the red red lines that make The Cross of Sacrifice. [Illustration] Where all the woe of all the world Upon His heart had lain And all the sin of earth pressed sore There gleamed that double stain. And now we cannot name His name Who is the Lord of Heaven, Without a thought of that symbol By love and pity given. Now onward to our Jericho We press with bated breath. For evil grows the way, and dark. On every hand stalks death. Part III [Illustration] The robber hoards that strip and slay Take 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 afraid Sob in the night for bread. [Illustration] Oh, who shall staunch such world-wide woe-- Such universe of pain? And who has oil and wine enough? And must they cry in vain? [Illustration] Nay! On the road to Jericho There be a million now, Who bear Christ's pity in their hearts, His sign upon their brow. And millions more shall follow them To bind and to restore. Till all the highway is made safe And war shall be no more. Now God give grace to all who hear And may His love suffice To blaze upon each heart each day The Cross of Sacrifice. [Illustration] [Illustration] * * * * * Transcriber's Note: Obvious punctuation repaired. The original text spelled "grievous" as "grevious." This was retained so as to not change the poem's meter. The original text had the contraction for "it is" (it's) in place of every possessive "its." This was corrected.