Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MARTYRS, by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MARTYRS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: My child, whose soul is like a flame
Last Line: Because no night is there.
Alternate Author Name(s): Van Deth, Gerrit, Mrs.
Subject(s): Children; Martyrs; Childhood


MY child, whose soul is like a flame
Within a crystal altar-lamp,
Bends o'er an ancient book, its name
Obscured by mildew damp;

And, tracing down the yellow leaves,
Where quaint and crooked letters stand,
Her breath comes quick, her bosom heaves,
Hard shuts the eager hand.

"Mamma,"—I meet the lifted eyes
That, softened, shine through gathering tears—
"God surely gives them in the skies,
For all those dreadful years,

"Some sweeter thing than others have,
To comfort after so much pain;
But, tell me, could we be as brave
Through fire and rack and chain?

"I 'm glad there are no martyrs now."
Blithe rings the voice and positive.
"Ah, Love," my own heart answers low,
"The martyrs ever live.

"A royal line in silk and lace,
Or robed in serge and hodden gray,
With fearless step and steadfast face
They tread the common way.

"Than dungeon bolt, or folding blaze,
Their cross unseen may heavier press,
And none suspect, through smiling days,
Their utmost bitterness."

"Some sweet thing surely God must keep
To comfort," said my little one;
"They thank Him now if tender sleep
Comes when the day is done."

God's angel, Sleep, with manifold
Soft touches, smoothing brows of care,
Dwells not beyond the gates of gold,
Because no night is there.





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