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A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

Religion

A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

Quotations; Religious poetry

(Of whom the world was not worthy:) they wandered in deserts, and in
mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.--Hebrews, xi. 36, 37, 38.

I saw the souls of them that were beheaded for the witness of Jesus,
and for the Word of God.--Revelations, xx. 4.


    The Sacred Book, its value understood,
    Received the seal of _martyrdom_ in blood.
    These holy men, so full of truth and grace,
    Seem, to reflection, of a different race;
    Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere,
    In such a cause they could not dare to fear;
    They could not purchase earth with such a price,
    Or spare a life too short to reach the skies.
    From them to thee conveyed along the tide,
    Their streaming hearts poured freely when they died;
    Those truths which neither use nor years impair,
    Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share.
                                                _Cowper._


        In vain the Roman lord
        Waved the relentless sword,
    And spread the terrors of the circling flame;
        In vain the heathen sought,
        If chance some lurking spot,
    Might mar the lustre of the Christian name:
    The Eternal Spirit, by His fruits confessed,
    In life secured from stains, and steel’d in death, the breast.
                                                     _Bishop Mant._


    The Son of God is gone to war,
      A kingly crown to gain;
    His blood-red banner streams afar;
      Who follows in his train?
    --Who best can drink his cup of woe,
      Triumphant over pain;
    Who boldest bears his cross below,--
      He follows in his train.

    The _martyr_ first, whose eagle-eye
      Could pierce beyond the grave;
    Who saw his Master in the sky,
      And call’d on him to save:
    Like him, with pardon on his tongue,
      In midst of mortal pain,
    He pray’d for them who did the wrong:
      --Who follows in the train?
                                  _Heber._


    When persecution’s torrent blaze
      Wraps the unshrinking _martyr’s_ head,
    When fade all earthly flowers and bays,
      When summer friends are gone and fled,
    Is he alone in that dark hour,
    Who owns the Lord of love and power?

    Or waves there not around his brow,
      A wand no human arm may wield,
    Fraught with a spell no angels know,
      His steps to guide, his soul to shield?
    Thou, Saviour, art his Charmed Bower,
    His Magic Ring, his Rock, his Tower.
                                      _Keble._


    In rendering to the Lord what is the Lord’s,
      Doth not the thought of violence bring shame?
    Think ye, He gave the branching forest-tree
      To furnish fagots for the funeral pyre,
    Or bid His sunrise light the world, to see
      Pale, tortured victims perish there by fire?
                                      _Mrs. Norton._

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

Religion

A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

Quotations; Religious poetry

(Of whom the world was not worthy:) they wandered in deserts, and in
mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.--Hebrews, xi. 36, 37, 38.

I saw the souls of them that were beheaded for the witness of Jesus,
and for the Word of God.--Revelations, xx. 4.


    The Sacred Book, its value understood,
    Received the seal of _martyrdom_ in blood.
    These holy men, so full of truth and grace,
    Seem, to reflection, of a different race;
    Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere,
    In such a cause they could not dare to fear;
    They could not purchase earth with such a price,
    Or spare a life too short to reach the skies.
    From them to thee conveyed along the tide,
    Their streaming hearts poured freely when they died;
    Those truths which neither use nor years impair,
    Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share.
                                                _Cowper._


        In vain the Roman lord
        Waved the relentless sword,
    And spread the terrors of the circling flame;
        In vain the heathen sought,
        If chance some lurking spot,
    Might mar the lustre of the Christian name:
    The Eternal Spirit, by His fruits confessed,
    In life secured from stains, and steel’d in death, the breast.
                                                     _Bishop Mant._


    The Son of God is gone to war,
      A kingly crown to gain;
    His blood-red banner streams afar;
      Who follows in his train?
    --Who best can drink his cup of woe,
      Triumphant over pain;
    Who boldest bears his cross below,--
      He follows in his train.

    The _martyr_ first, whose eagle-eye
      Could pierce beyond the grave;
    Who saw his Master in the sky,
      And call’d on him to save:
    Like him, with pardon on his tongue,
      In midst of mortal pain,
    He pray’d for them who did the wrong:
      --Who follows in the train?
                                  _Heber._


    When persecution’s torrent blaze
      Wraps the unshrinking _martyr’s_ head,
    When fade all earthly flowers and bays,
      When summer friends are gone and fled,
    Is he alone in that dark hour,
    Who owns the Lord of love and power?

    Or waves there not around his brow,
      A wand no human arm may wield,
    Fraught with a spell no angels know,
      His steps to guide, his soul to shield?
    Thou, Saviour, art his Charmed Bower,
    His Magic Ring, his Rock, his Tower.
                                      _Keble._


    In rendering to the Lord what is the Lord’s,
      Doth not the thought of violence bring shame?
    Think ye, He gave the branching forest-tree
      To furnish fagots for the funeral pyre,
    Or bid His sunrise light the world, to see
      Pale, tortured victims perish there by fire?
                                      _Mrs. Norton._

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

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