I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
As ye deal with my enslavers, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the Roman with His heel,
His truth is marching on.
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
His truth goes marching on!
In the beauty of the lilies he was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
He died not to make men holy, he died to make men free,
His truth goes marching on!
He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,
He is wisdom to the mighty, He is succour to the brave,
So the world shall be His footstool, no more will ,
Spartacus goes marching on!
I once toyed with something for Answers for Milinda, where *Spartacus is a sage who recognizes how slavery traps men in the cycle of reincarnation.
"He who was a slave shall be a master; he who is a master shall be a slaver. As you do unto others, so shall others do unto you. Until this ends, how can there be salvation?"