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Morning past over Mount Latmos. The brethren in orison bended,
Marked not the change of the scene, as from daybreak it flitted to high noon:
How from the deep blue sky the delicate rosicler vanished,
How, from the tenderest blade, the dew-drop exhaled into æther,
How birds ceased their matins, and sought in their green happy leaf-homes
Rest from the burden and heat of the day; while checkie-wise falling
On to the turf beneath, the sun made richest confusion
Mixed with the foliage' shadows, in loveliest beauty of motion
Interlacing and intermingling and intertwining.
None of these things they saw. But when fell silence on nature,
That deep silence of noon, save the shrill of the ceaseless cicada,
Then from the arch of the cave, Maximian called to his brethren,
Bidding them join in the prayers of the Hour. Then rose there to heaven
That great anthem of laud how He sitteth o'er all in the highest,
How He hath made the round world, and the great and wide sea is His servant:
How to all creatures that live He gives their breath, and he takes it:
Waiting the day that shall see the fullness poured forth of His Spirit,
So that the ransomed earth, then rejuvenescent in beauty,
May be renewed in perfection, and glorious for ever and ever.

Now had the ninth Hour come; when Iamblichus, equal of Angels,
Calling his brethren to prayer, thus afterwards spake and addressed them:
“Friends, it is all too plain; our brother has certainly fallen
Into the hands of the wicked; a prey at length to their malice.
Long hours since he might have been here, yet ye see he returns not.
God, the God of all strength, succour him whatsoever he suffer!
God, the God of all comfort, support him and cheer him and crown him!
What say ye now? Should we still remain here, by his counsel abiding?
Leaving him there as he is, or at once return to the City,
Aiding him — if it may be even yet,—by our prayers and our presence?”
Thus did Iamblichus ask: to whom John answered on this wise;
“Let us obey to the last the advice he holily counselled—
Spending the hours in the prayer in which but now he was joining:
Long, it may be, ere we reach the Arena, his glorified spirit
Shall have its hard won place in the happy palmiferous number.
Tarry ye here, as before; our prayer will aid him as dearly,
Whether as yet he be prisoner on earth, or Victor in Heaven.
I, as I give this rede, will offer myself to the peril;
I will go down to the City, and bring those things we have need of.”

Scarce had he spoke, when a soft sweet strain, like a Paradise-whisper,
Rose from the downward path, now swelling, now intermitting;
Voices of praise, as it seemed, that, in Choral harmony joining,
Told of some joy or some triumph. And hark! they can catch it more clearly;
Still is the cadence: “Christ liveth, Christ reigneth, Christ conquereth ever.”
“These are the voices of Angels,” Maximian said to his brethren;
“Ministering spirits are singing our brother to Abraham's bosom.”
Whiles he yet spake, the Cross that headed and guided the Column
Topping the little ascent, was halted in front of the Cavern.
Banners came on behind it and Choristers; Banners displaying
Deeds of the Saints of old, or reciting the Scriptures of Mercy:
Choristers, thundering forth the Hymn of ultimate triumph
Won by the Church o'er the foe, when the Living One went to the battle.
“How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, Son of the morning!
How art thou here cast down to the ground which didst weaken the nations!
If thou shalt rise yet again, yet again shalt thou fall and shalt perish;
Dashed like the sherd of a potter, in pieces; for God is on our side.
Hail to the happy ones now, the precursors and guides to the battle!
Hail to the sufferers then! to the people that walked in darkness,
Darkness of dungeon, and darkness of sorrow, and darkness of death-shade.
Now shall they need no candle, nor light of the Sun, for the Lord God
Giveth them light, and they shall reign for ever and ever.”

All the way through in the pause came sweet young voices in cadence;
“Christ is King; Christ liveth, Christ reigneth, Christ conqu ereth alway.”
Fell on their face s the six; not a moment they thought of enchantment;
This they but deemed was the foretaste of heaven,—an angel-procession.
Hastily, therefore, stood forth the Exarch of Ephesus, Memnon.

“Hail to the Saints of an age that is past! rise, brethren, and hear me!
Little ye think how God hath laid bare the Arm of His glory.
Here, as ye deem, when ye entered, the yesterday's sun set beyond you;
Thousands of yesterdays since have rolled on in the story of this world.
She, whose passion ye saw, hath now for two centuries rested,
While through the earth hath the Cross marched on from conquest to conquest.
Rome hath bowed down her neck to the Faith: the Cæsar is Christian.
Morning by morning the Great Oblation is made in our temple;
Evening by evening doth incense arise midst Chorus and Anthem.
These whom ye see are here to behold the friends of the Martyrs;
Here to take heart from the men that themselves dared face the Arena.
Come ye, then, brethren, with us: for Constantine waiteth your coming;
Come ye, and see the good things which the Lord hath done for His people.
First, ere we go, receive the kiss of peace from your Bishop.”
Thus they set forth to return; with gladness subdued, in procession,
In that already they saw that wonderful change passing o'er them;
Change they before had marked when Constantine sat in the Bema.
Silent the prayers that arose; and the six followed also in silence,
Save for one cry of surprise as they entered the gate of Caÿster.
Windows and house-tops were crammed; the streets overflowed with the faithful;
Still but one cry of prayer, that ascended like incense to heaven,
Solemn and low; Holy God! Holy Mighty! Have mercy upon us!
Now they drew nigh to the end of their course, to the Church of S. Clement;
There, for the last time on earth, the Seven were gathered together.
Then did they lead them from Altar to Altar, from Temple to Temple;
Shrines, that were dear for the blood themselves had seen poured as an offering;
Temples enriched with the bodies that they had known cast to the vultures.
But when they came in due course to the Church of S. Babylas, forthwith
Thus for the last time spake Iamblichus, equal of Angels:
“This is our rest for ever; the place we have found to delight in.
Kneel, O brethren; to God—God of wonders—commending your spirits.”
Forthwith the brethren knelt in front of the gate of the Bema;
Fear and astonishment fell on the crowd, and a hush as of midnight.
Silently prayed they awhile; then they sang their “Nun apolueis;”
Clear and unbroken each voice, as the swan's song ere her departure.
Hushed was the strain at last, but still as in orison knelt they;
Memnon alone drew near, and gently regarding the kneelers,
“Render to God all thanks: the Confessors,” he cried, “have been guerdoned.”

Ye who are fighting the battle for England's Church and her glory,
Whenso that battle seems going against us, remember the legend.
Time there will be, there will be, though we never shall see it in this world,
When by the hands of the men that come after us God shall upraise her;
She whom we fight for now be no more despised and rejected,
But an eternal praise, and a joy of all generations!