Tales of the martyrs of the first two centuries, Volumen2

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Página 107 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers...
Página 32 - They climbed the steep ascent of heaven Through peril, toil, and pain : O God, to us may grace be given To follow in their train.
Página 21 - The martyr first, whose eagle eye Could pierce beyond the grave, Who saw his Master in the sky, And called on Him to save...
Página 41 - I ask them whence their victory came ; They, with united breath, Ascribe their conquest to the Lamb, Their triumph to his death.
Página 72 - Patriots have toiled, and in their country's cause Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve, Receive proud recompense. We give in charge Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic muse, Proud of the treasure, marches with it down To latest times...
Página 107 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold ; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones, Forget not : in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks.
Página 20 - Thou dost conduct thy people Through torrents of temptation : Nor will we fear, While thou art near, The fire of tribulation : The world, with sin and Satan, In vain our march opposes ; By thee we shall Break through them all, And sing the song of Moses.
Página 42 - By faith we see the glory To which thou shalt restore us ; The cross despise for that high prize Which thou hast set before us : And if thou count us worthy, We each, as dying Stephen, Shall see thee stand, at God's right hand, To take us up to heaven.
Página 51 - The voice at midnight came; He started up to hear ; A mortal arrow pierced his frame — He fell, but felt no fear.
Página 82 - Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim, Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk with God, to be divinely free, To soar, and to anticipate the skies. Yet few remember them. They lived unknown, Till persecution dragg'd them into fame, And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew — No marble tells us whither. With their names No bard embalms and sanctifies his song: And history, so warm on meaner themes, Is cold on this.

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