And draped in white, their caskets go;
The innocent, who loved their God,
The bloody, dirty, mangled dead.
Within the night their blood had dried;
The evening winds had carried screams
Of terror, death, and wicked dreams
Now silent in the morning's light.
We found them, at the break of day,
Their faces marred - the firewood club
Was left beside them, fouled with blood
And cold; their life had drained away.
In Myitkyina the long parade
Remembers them as young and fair;
With music mourns the mangled pair
As caskets in the grave are laid.
Beneath the altar, clothed in white,
They rest and wait; here we remain
In grip of terror, death, and pain
To mourn, and walk in narrow light,
And cry, "O Lord, how long before
You vindicate our sister's blood
Redeemer, holy, faithful, good,
Who all the moon and stars adore?"
A thousand, thousand myriads
Cry, "Worthy is the murdered Lamb
Who hung in terror as a man
While nail and whip and thorn drew blood