• ON THE MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS IN BULGARIA
  
  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!
  ----- Oscar Wilde
  
  Imagem: Boris Vallejo