XII. THE MARTYRS. Through the straight pass of suffering The martyrs even trod, Their feet upon temptation, Their faces upon God. A stately, shriven company; Convulsion playing round, Harmless as streaks of meteor Upon a planet's bound. Their faith the everlasting troth; Their expectation fair; The needle to the north degree Wades so, through polar air.
i am in love with the first stanza of this poem. it is bad ass.
