IS-2 
Where the martyr’s honour’d dust doth repose; 
Or his, who broke the gloom 
Long ot' pagan lands the doom, 
And made “ the desert bloom 
As the rose.”* 
But where’s the power of thought 
Which may pierce those scenes sublime, 
Wien the Christian’s fight is fought, 
And o’er Sin and Death and Time 
Through heaven-imparted might, he hath won; 
Wien he joins the glorious band 
Wio as crowned victors stand, 
pal m-brancli in his hand, 
Round the throne? 
* How beauteous are the feet of those who bear 
MeTcy to man, glad tidings to despair! 
Far from the mountain’s top they lovelier seem 
Than moonlight dews, or morning’s rosy beam ; 
Sweeter the voice than spell or hymning sphere, 
And listening angels hush their harps to hear.” 
