THE ENGLISH MARTYRS.
17
The sun set in a fearful hour,
The stars might well grow dim.
When this mortality had power
So to o'ershadow Him!
That He who gave man's breath, might know
The very depths of human woe.
He proved them all! the doubt, the strife,
The faint perplexing dread,
The mists that hang o'er parting life,
All gather'd round his head;
And the Deliverer knelt to pray—
Yet pass'd it not, that cup, away!
It pass'd not—though the stormy wave
Had sunk beneath his tread;
It pass'd not—though to him the grave
Had yielded up its dead.
But there was sent him from on high
A gift of strength for man to die.
