 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
“Thou damned Nazarene! the imperial law
Shall forge new tortures for thy treacheries,
Thy necromancies and apostate deeds.
Meantime, exult, thank, praise and bless thy God,
Convict redeemer, buried deity,
That my condition fits not contest now
With thine, or wolves should gash and gnaw thy limbs,
And eagles' talons bear to mountain cliffs
Thy heart yet quivering with the pulse of fear.
Some fiendish potence foils me now; again
Thou shalt not win fire-fiends unto thy aid:
Pompeii yet shall celebrate thy death—
Again, thou shalt not scape though hell arise!”
Shall forge new tortures for thy treacheries,
Thy necromancies and apostate deeds.
Meantime, exult, thank, praise and bless thy God,
Convict redeemer, buried deity,
That my condition fits not contest now
With thine, or wolves should gash and gnaw thy limbs,
And eagles' talons bear to mountain cliffs
Thy heart yet quivering with the pulse of fear.
Some fiendish potence foils me now; again
Thou shalt not win fire-fiends unto thy aid:
Pompeii yet shall celebrate thy death—
Again, thou shalt not scape though hell arise!”
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |