THE BOOK OF MARTYRS

　　Read, sweet, how others strove,

　　Till we are stouter;

　　What they renounced,

　　Till we are less afraid;

　　How many times they bore

　　The faithful witness,

　　Till we are helped,

　　As if a kingdom cared!

　　Read then of faith

　　That shone above the fagot;

　　Clear strains of hymn

　　The river could not drown;

　　Brave names of men

　　And celestial women,

　　Passed out of record

　　Into renown!