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93
June 27.
THE MARIAN MARTYRS.
[_]
On this day, 1556, thirteen Protestants were burned in one fire at Stratford-le-Bow, all of humble birth and occupation, (smiths, weavers, labourers, &c.), as in fact, with exceedingly few exceptions, were the 284 witnesses who died for the truth in Mary's reign.
“The Lord grant us the like grace in the like need.”—
Foxe, vol.
iii. p. 708, folio of 1641.
England, when thick fell thy night,
When thy glory low did lie,
From whose souls streamed forth thy light?
Where abode thy valiancy?
Who thy brow more richly wreathed?
Who thy dower divine bequeathed?
When thy glory low did lie,
From whose souls streamed forth thy light?
Where abode thy valiancy?
Who thy brow more richly wreathed?
Who thy dower divine bequeathed?
Who refused to fall before
Antichrist's rebuilded throne?
Who the Truth's rent banner bore?
Who the Truth's stern battle won?
Who with their dear Lord kept faith?
Who resisted unto death?
Antichrist's rebuilded throne?
Who the Truth's rent banner bore?
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Who with their dear Lord kept faith?
Who resisted unto death?
Did thy knightly, noble blood
Fast the high allegiance keep?
Did thy plumëd warrior brood
Into the mid battle leap?
Doth the Martyrs' glorious host
Of thy barons bold make boast?
Fast the high allegiance keep?
Did thy plumëd warrior brood
Into the mid battle leap?
Doth the Martyrs' glorious host
Of thy barons bold make boast?
Ah those champions forsworn!
Not one threat, one stroke they bore:
Ah those runagates forlorn!
Not one martyr's crown they wore.
Not for them the Lord drew near
To exalt His England dear.
Not one threat, one stroke they bore:
Ah those runagates forlorn!
Not one martyr's crown they wore.
Not for them the Lord drew near
To exalt His England dear.
Toil-worn hands this rescue wrought,
Weaklings in this fight o'ercame;
Craftsmen this bright marvel brought
To enrich the mouth of Fame.
Who uplifted England high?
Her unknown Nobility!
Weaklings in this fight o'ercame;
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To enrich the mouth of Fame.
Who uplifted England high?
Her unknown Nobility!
Vain all woe their faith to break,
From their Lord these hearts to move!
Close they clasped Him at the stake,
Flamed above the pile their love.
O these noble, valiant wights!
O these stainless Red-Cross Knights!
From their Lord these hearts to move!
Close they clasped Him at the stake,
Flamed above the pile their love.
O these noble, valiant wights!
O these stainless Red-Cross Knights!
England, midst thy shining host
Set these lowly helpers high!
Of thy part divinely boast
In the martyrs' company!
Heaven, be lavish of thy thrones!
Lord, requite Thy Faithful Ones!
Set these lowly helpers high!
Of thy part divinely boast
In the martyrs' company!
Heaven, be lavish of thy thrones!
Lord, requite Thy Faithful Ones!
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