Explore "On the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria" by Oscar Wilde on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
CHRIST, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bones / Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre? / And was Thy Rising only dreamed by her / Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones? / For here the air is horrid with men's groans, / The priests who call upon Thy name are slain, / Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of pain / From those whose children lie upon the stones? / Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom / Curtains the land, and through the starless night / Over Thy Cross a Crescent moon I see! / If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb / Come down, O Son of Man! and show Thy might / Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee!