Cathars and Templars

We were but few among us, Marching with reins held tight, fists trembling, On a path of grass and mud, Still praying, teeth chattering. We had but little food, Hollow bellies, souls hardened… The noise our entrails made Marked the rhythm of a new life. A handful of men of God, Free to love Him, mad for justice, Torn from the lives of those Who believed themselves exempt from vice. Afflicted by wild slanders, Beaten, tortured, assaulted… Lying at the bottom of dark dungeons, Half dead, lost, soiled. What remains of our faith? Men of the Church that we were, Wearing around our necks this cross Now heavy as lead. What remains of this past, Still dear to our hearts, Of this glory, this pride Of walking upright, with honor… And justice by our side? So? What remains of it still? — “Our egregore remains, Still alive… Oh! Sweet victory over death, Reborn, forever alive… In the bodies of these women and these men of today.”