Mercy for Armenia

3 0 00

Mercy for Armenia

Stand back, ye messengers of mercy! Stand

Far off, for I will save my troubled folk

In my own way. So the false Sultan spoke;

And Europe, hearkening to his base command,

Stood still to see him heal his wounded land.

Through blinding snows of winter and through smoke

Of burning towns, she saw him deal the stroke

Of cruel mercy that his hate had planned.

Unto the prisoners and the sick he gave

New tortures, horrible, without a name;

Unto the thirsty, blood to drink; a sword

Unto the hungry; with a robe of shame

He clad the naked, making life abhorred;

He saved by slaughter, and denied a grave.

But thou, my country, though no fault be thine

For that red horror far across the sea;

Though not a tortured wretch can point to thee,

And curse thee for the selfishness supine

Of those great Powers that cowardly combine

To shield the Turk in his iniquity;

Yet, since thy hand is innocent and free,

Arise, and show the world the way divine!

Thou canst not break the oppressor’s iron rod,

But thou canst help and comfort the oppressed;

Thou canst not loose the captive’s heavy chain,

But thou canst bind his wounds and soothe his pain.

Armenia calls thee, Sovereign of the West,

To play the Good Samaritan for God.