To a poor martyr perisht in the flame

Lo suddenly the cool and calm of Heaven,

And One who gently touch’d and tended, came.

‘For thee, O Lord,’ he cried, ‘my life was given.’

When thus the Pitiful One: ‘O suffering man,

I taught thee not to die, but how to live;

But ye have wrongly read the simple plan,

And turn to strife the Heav’nly gift I give.

I taught the faith of works, the prayer of deeds,

The sacrament of love. I gave, not awe,

But praise; no church but God’s; no form, no creeds;

No priest but conscience and no lord but law.

Behold, my brother, by my side in Heaven

Judas abhor’d by men and Nero next.

How then, if such as these may be forgiven,

Shall one be damn’d who stumbles at a text?’

1881-2.

1881-2.

 

 Froth

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