Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/224

The noble army of those martyred ones,
Who round God's altar wait.
                                       With wreathing spires
Up went the crackling flame, and that old man,
Triumphant o'er his anguish, boldly cried,
"Courage, my brother! We this day do light
A fire in Christendom, that ne'er shall die."
Then on his shriveled lip an angel's smile
Settled, and life went forth as pleasantly
As from a couch of down.
                                       But Ridley bore
A longer sorrow. Oft with sigh and prayer
He gave his soul to Jesus, ere the flame
Dissolved that gordian knot which bound it fast
To tortured clay. At length his blackened corse
Fell at the feet of Latimer, who raised
Still a calm brow to heaven. Almost it seemed
That even in death the younger Christian sought,
By posture of humility, to pay
Deep homage to his venerated guide
And father in the gospel.
                                   'T was a sight
To curb demoniac rage. Low stifled sounds
Of pity rose, and many a murmurer mourned
For good king Edward, to the grave gone down
In early sanctity. And some there were
To ban the persecuting Queen, who fed
The fires of Smithfield with the blood of saints,
And dared to kindle in these hallowed vales