The bard of the dales or poems and miscellaneous pieces; with a life of the author, written by himself. By John Castillo |
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THE MARTYRS.
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 | The bard of the dales |  |
133
THE MARTYRS.
OR REFLECTIONS AFTER READING A BOOK CALLED “THE DAYS OF QUEEN MARY.”
Christian! for one moment pause and see,
The privilege so dearly bought for thee!
The privilege so dearly bought for thee!
Hear the friends of martyrs wailing,
Earth itself appears to shake!
Whom the sinew'd arm is trailing,
Bound unto the fiery stake.
Earth itself appears to shake!
Whom the sinew'd arm is trailing,
Bound unto the fiery stake.
Gleaming spears around them shining,
Bearded savages look on:
Others deep in dungeons pining,
Till their strength and life is gone!
Bearded savages look on:
Others deep in dungeons pining,
Till their strength and life is gone!
Up to heaven their eyes are fixed,
Where their prayers and tears ascend,
With a Saviour's merits mixed,
Christ alone is now their friend!
Where their prayers and tears ascend,
With a Saviour's merits mixed,
Christ alone is now their friend!
Do but mark the strange confusion,
See the morning stars lament!
Man is sunk in such delusion,
Sin has gone to such extent!
See the morning stars lament!
Man is sunk in such delusion,
Sin has gone to such extent!
Furies rais'd by false opinions,
Lift the smoke and fan the flame,
Darken more those dark dominions,—
Brand them with eternal shame.
Lift the smoke and fan the flame,
Darken more those dark dominions,—
Brand them with eternal shame.
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Holy men and book's rejected,
Few their message dare receive;
Purest modes of faith detected,
Scarce allow'd on earth to live.
Few their message dare receive;
Purest modes of faith detected,
Scarce allow'd on earth to live.
Persecution's insurrection,
Hunts them out, where'er they be,
Glories in their swift destruction
Sanction'd by a queen's decree.
Hunts them out, where'er they be,
Glories in their swift destruction
Sanction'd by a queen's decree.
Hear the false accuser boasting,
Void of pity, void of grace,
While the christian victim's roasting,
Mocks his maker to his face.
Void of pity, void of grace,
While the christian victim's roasting,
Mocks his maker to his face.
See the heated spirit rising,
Perfect god, for to adore,
Midnight mobs, no more surprising,
These the flame can scorch no more!
Perfect god, for to adore,
Midnight mobs, no more surprising,
These the flame can scorch no more!
Hovering spirits, torches lighting,
Quick as meteors to convey,
That which they are proudly slighting,
To the nations, far away.
Quick as meteors to convey,
That which they are proudly slighting,
To the nations, far away.
Now they think the conquest's gain'd,
Spread their ashes on the hill,
And the pile with horror stain'd,
The cold moon shines and dews distil.
Spread their ashes on the hill,
And the pile with horror stain'd,
The cold moon shines and dews distil.
While we read their mournful story,
They adore their mighty king;
While they bask in beams of glory,
We their glorious victories sing!
They adore their mighty king;
While they bask in beams of glory,
We their glorious victories sing!
| The bard of the dales | |