a martyr's blood. 

Many had builded, and, the building done,

Through our adornèd gates with din

Came Prince and Priest, with pipe and clarion

Leading the right God in.

Yet, had the perfect temple quickened then

And whispered us between our song,

"Give God the praise. To whom of living men

Shall next our thanks belong?"

Then had the few, the very few, that wist

His Atlantean labour, swerved

Their eyes to seek, and in the triumph missed,

The man that most deserved.

In all that fabric; stone by stone

Had built his life in her, had made his fate

And her perfection one;

Given all he had; and now—when all was given—

Far spent, within a private shade,

Heard the loud organ pealing praise to Heaven,

And learned why man is made.—

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