The Book of Martyrs

First print Life XVIII, 18
J poem 260 | Fr poem 323

Read, sweet, how others strove,
Till we are stouter;
What they renounced,
Till we are less afraid;
How many times they bore
The faithful witness,
Till we are helped,
As if a kingdom cared!

Read then of faith
That shone above the fagot;
Clear strains of hymn
The river could not drown;
Brave names of men
And celestial women,
Passed out of record
Into renown!

LINK TO EMILY DICKINSON BOOKS

The text may be used under any of the following licenses:
CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE 4.0,
CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE BY-SA 3.0,
CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE 2.5.

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