 but revived in strength by the angels from heaven. No longer he quails. From that hour he never utters a word which looked like renouncing the fight. From the terrible skirmish all red with blood, sweat blood, he dashes into the thick of the battle. The kiss of Judas is the first round of the trumpet. Pilate's bar, as it were, is the glittering of the spear. The cruel lash of the Roman scourge is the crossing of the swords. But listen, but the cross...