He took the Wine and blessed It. He blessed and brake the Bread.
With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said:
'See! These Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city wall,
Show Iron--Cold Iron--to be master of men all!

'Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong,
Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.
I forgive thy treason--I redeem thy fall--
For Iron--Cold Iron--must be master of men all!'

_'Crowns are for the valiant--sceptres for the bold!
Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold.'_
'Nay!' said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,
'But Iron--Cold Iron--is master of man all!
Iron out of Calvary is master of men all!'




A SONG OF KABIR


Oh, light was the world that he weighed in his hands!
Oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands!
He has gone from the _guddee_ and put on the shroud,
And departed in guise of _bairagi_ avowed!

Now the white road to Delhi is mat for his feet.
The _sal_ and the _kikar_ must guard him from heat.