(38)

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THROUGH the straight pass of suffering

The martyrs even trod,

Their feet upon temptation,

Their faces upon God.

 

A stately, shriven company;

Convulsion playing round,

Harmless as streaks of meteor

Upon a planet’s bound.

Their faith the everlasting troth;

Their expectation fair;

The needle to the north degree

Wades so, through polar air.