⁠Who challenge our wine and bread,
And impeach us all as traitors,
⁠Both the living and the dead.

And whenever I sit at the banquet,
⁠Where the feast and song are high,
Amid the mirth and music
⁠I can hear that fearful cry.

And hollow and haggard faces
⁠Look into the lighted hall,
And wasted hands are extended
⁠To catch the crumbs that fall.

And within there is light and plenty,
⁠And odors fill the air;
But without there is cold and darkness,
⁠And hunger and despair.

And there in the camp of famine,
⁠In wind, and cold, and rain,
Christ, the great Lord of the Army,
⁠Lies dead upon the plain.