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. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of It Was the Road to Jericho, by Annie Fellows Johnston