All Saints: Martyrs

Once slain for Him who first was slain for them, Now made alive in Him for evermore, All luminous and lovely in their gore With no more buffeting winds or tides to stem The Martyrs look for New Jerusalem; And cry “How long?” remembering all they bore, “How long?” with heart and eyes sent on before Toward consummated throne and diadem. “How long?” White robes are given to their desire; “How long?” deep rest that is and is to be; With a great promise of the oncoming host, Loves to their love and fires to flank their fire: So rest they, worshipping incessantly One God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

“I gave a sweet smell.”

Saints are like roses when they flush rarest, Saints are like lilies when they bloom fairest, Saints are like violets sweetest of their kind Bear in mind This to-day. Then to-morrow: All like roses rarer than the rarest, All like lilies fairer than the fairest, All like violets sweeter than we know. Be it so. To-morrow blots out sorrow.

Hark! the Alleluias of the great salvation Still beginning, never ending, still begin, The thunder of an endless adoration: Open ye the gates, that the righteous nation Which have kept the truth may enter in.

Roll ye back, ye pearls, on your twelvefold station: No more deaths to die, no more fights to win! Lift your heads, ye gates, that the righteous nation Led by the Great Captain of their sole salvation, Having kept the truth, may enter in.