 | Poetry for children |  |
The First Martyr.
There was a holy man, in ancient timesWho taught the Jewish people, Full of power,
And strong in faith, he told them of the Christ,
The hope of Israel.
But their hearts were hard,
And their ears deaf to preaching. More than this,—
They were offended at him. So, by force
They brought him to the Council, and accused
Falsely, of evil deeds, and impious words,
Against their Law and Prophet.
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Majestic, from his seat of state inquired,
“Are these things so?”
Then, lo! the face of him
Who stood arraign'd before them, brightly glow'd
With such celestial light of innocence,
That they who gaz'd upon it, deem'd they saw
An angel's countenance. And then he spake
The truth with boldness,—how the voice of God
Bade faithful Abraham leave his native home
For a far land of strangers,—and with power
Speaking through Moses, led their fathers forth
From Egypt's bondage, through the parted sea,
And through the desert, to a fruitful land,
Giving them rest, beneath the peaceful sway
Of their own kings. But at his keen rebuke
Of their ingratitude and unbelief,
And sinful shedding of a Savior's blood,
They gnash'd their teeth, and from the city's bound
Hurried him forth, hurling with furious rage
Stones at his guiltless head.
Kneeling, he met
The murderous shower. Before his stedfast sight
There was a vision of the Son of God,
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Trembling with painful death, still strove in prayer,
For his blood-thirsty foes. “Lord! to their charge
Lay not this sin.”
And so, he fell asleep:
The first meek martyr to the faith of Christ,
Mangled and crush'd beneath the unpitying storm
Of sinful anger.
Children, who have read
Of Stephen in your bibles, you will know
That this was he. You do not live in days
Of persecution,—but I'll tell you how
You may resemble Stephen;—yea, even more,
How to be like the Master whom he served.
—When at your homes, or in your sports, you take
Offence at your companions, and the blood
Rushes up warmly to your brow, and prompts
The deed of anger, ask of Stephen's God
To teach you how to pardon, and to melt
With gentle dews of love, the thought unkind.
| Poetry for children | |