THOSE WHO struck Him once in the name of their rulers, are born again in this present age. They gather in their prayer-halls in a pious garb, they call their soldiers, 'Kill, Kill', they shout; in their roaring mingles the music of their hymns, while the Son of Man in His agony prays, 'O God, fling, fling far away this cup filled with the bitterest of poisons.'