XII.
The Martyrs.
Through the straight pass of suffering
The martyrs even trod,
Their feet upon temptation,
Their faces upon God.
A stately, shriven company ;
Convulsion playing round,
Harmless as streaks of meteor
Upon a planet's bound.
Their faith the everlasting troth ;
Their expectation fair ;
The needle to the north degree
Wades so, through polar air.
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