Poems (Ford)/The Canonization
THE CANONIZATION.
[The canonization of the Japanese Martyrs, in 1862.]
[The canonization of the Japanese Martyrs, in 1862.]
"Lone mother of dead empires," throned
Upon the ancient hills
That rise o'er Tiber's yellow flood,
What joy thy bosom thrills?
What strains of triumph proudly swell,
And fill the listening air,
While thousands on thy breast bow down
To God in praise and prayer?
Upon the ancient hills
That rise o'er Tiber's yellow flood,
What joy thy bosom thrills?
What strains of triumph proudly swell,
And fill the listening air,
While thousands on thy breast bow down
To God in praise and prayer?
Dost sing some brilliant victory won,
As in the days of old,
When here the mighty Cæsars sat,
In robes of glittering gold?
No—like themselves, like all of earth,
Their power has passed away;
But fadeless is the triumph thou
Dost celebrate to-day.
As in the days of old,
When here the mighty Cæsars sat,
In robes of glittering gold?
No—like themselves, like all of earth,
Their power has passed away;
But fadeless is the triumph thou
Dost celebrate to-day.
Thou singest the glorious victory
Won by that martyr-band,
Who for the blessed Saviour's sake
Died in a pagan land;
Keen torture was to them but joy,
And life but little loss,
Since they the signal honor won
Of dying on the cross.
Won by that martyr-band,
Who for the blessed Saviour's sake
Died in a pagan land;
Keen torture was to them but joy,
And life but little loss,
Since they the signal honor won
Of dying on the cross.
O holy martyr-souls, like Him
Who on Mount Calvary died,
Breathing forgiveness from the cross
While ye were crucified,
And telling those poor, blinded ones
Of Jesus' boundless love,
Who died for all, that all might live
In bliss with Him above,—
Who on Mount Calvary died,
Breathing forgiveness from the cross
While ye were crucified,
And telling those poor, blinded ones
Of Jesus' boundless love,
Who died for all, that all might live
In bliss with Him above,—
Through heaven's blue curtains do ye gaze
With deeper joy to-day,
As thousands from all Christendom
Their humble homage pay?
As o'er the great Apostle's tomb
Your names are numbered down
With those who bear the victor's palm
And wear the martyr's crown?
With deeper joy to-day,
As thousands from all Christendom
Their humble homage pay?
As o'er the great Apostle's tomb
Your names are numbered down
With those who bear the victor's palm
And wear the martyr's crown?
Blest souls, where ye in far Japan
Your life-blood freely poured,
O'er pagan temples yet shall rise
The altars of the Lord;
He said who wrote His new command
Upon the world's great page,
His Church should spread o'er every land,
And live through every age.
Your life-blood freely poured,
O'er pagan temples yet shall rise
The altars of the Lord;
He said who wrote His new command
Upon the world's great page,
His Church should spread o'er every land,
And live through every age.
O bark of Peter, stanch and strong,
On Time's tempestuous sea
Thou 'st braved the gales of many an age—
There is no wreck for thee;
When to the pirate's evil eye
Thy hope seems nearly gone,
The crimson waves of martyrs' blood
Surge round and bear thee on.
On Time's tempestuous sea
Thou 'st braved the gales of many an age—
There is no wreck for thee;
When to the pirate's evil eye
Thy hope seems nearly gone,
The crimson waves of martyrs' blood
Surge round and bear thee on.
Thy day of power has not gone by,
O deathless Church of God,
Though, like thy Founder, thou hast felt
The scourge of Pilate's rod;
Thou 'rt changeless as the sun that bathes
In gold each glittering dome
That gems the fair, majestic brow
Of proud, imperial Rome.
O deathless Church of God,
Though, like thy Founder, thou hast felt
The scourge of Pilate's rod;
Thou 'rt changeless as the sun that bathes
In gold each glittering dome
That gems the fair, majestic brow
Of proud, imperial Rome.
O Cross of Christ! in joy or woe
Our hearts must cling to thee:
Oh, could our dim, earth-clouded eyes
The boundless future see,
Our keenest pangs would seem but slight,
And life itself no loss,
If we might win a fadeless crown
By dying on the cross.
Our hearts must cling to thee:
Oh, could our dim, earth-clouded eyes
The boundless future see,
Our keenest pangs would seem but slight,
And life itself no loss,
If we might win a fadeless crown
By dying on the cross.