The drums and cymbals all the neighbors rouse And trumpets shrill their joy; but none appears To see the grateful people pay their vows. He is not there, the grave assemblage hears; A neighbor, waking early, like a ghost Saw him steal forth, a prey to nameless fears. From room to room they went--their pains were lost; In all the desolate chambers there was none That answered them, or came to play the host. They called aloud, let in the cheerful sun Through opened windows--in their anxious round Into the workshop entrance last they won * * *, Ah, speak not of the horror there they found! III They have brought a captive home, and raging told That he is stained with foulest blasphemy, Mocks their false prophet with his insults bold. It is the pilgrim we were used to see For penance roaming 'neath our palm-trees' shade, Till at the Holy Grave he might be free. Will he, when comes the hangman, unafraid A Christian's courage show in face of wrong? God strengthen him on whom he cries for aid! Ah yes--though life is sweet, his will is strong, His mind made up; he yields him to their hands, Content to shed his blood in torment long. Nay, look not yonder, where the savage bands And merciless prepare a hideous deed-- Perchance a like dread fate before us stands! He comes, a victim led * * * yet will he bleed? I see a wondrous radiance in his face, As though unlooked-for safety were decreed! Can he have bought it * * *? No! they stride apace Toward the blood-stained spot--it is to be. The martyr's palm his confident brow shall grace. "Weep not! No tears of pity flowed from me When to the cross the tender youth I bound-- My heart of stone ignored his misery." So, hounded by remorse, the sinner found The path of expiation, firmly trod, Cain's brand upon him, all the dreadful round. "Thou who didst die for me, all-pitying God, Wilt Thou vouchsafe my tortures now an end? I have not asked deliverance from Thy rod, Nor hoped Thou shouldst to me Thy mercy lend. 'Tis life, not death, that is so hard to bear * * * Into Thy hands my spirit I commend!" So when the ruffian captors seized him there And bound him to the cross, he calmly smiled; 'Twas they that watched whose brows were lined with care. And as his limbs were torn with anguish wild, And he was lifted 'mid the throng on high, White peace came down upon his soul defiled. In passionate prayer the faithful watched him die That stood beneath the cross; his lips were still-- His suffering was one long atoning cry. The day passed, and the night; with dauntless will He yet found strength his torment dire to face. The third day's sun sank down behind the hill; And as the glory of its parting rays He strove with glazing eye once more to see, With his last breath he cried in joyful praise