Flung to the heedless winds Or on the waters cast, The martyrs' ashes, watched, Shall gathered be at last. And from that scattered dust, Around us and abroad, Shall spring a plenteous seed Of witnesses for God. The Father hath received Their latest living breath, And vain is Satan's boast Of victory in their death. Still, still, though dead, they speak, And, trumpet-tongued, proclaim To many a wakening land The one availing Name.
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