The Martyr



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Friday was the day
Of the prodigy and crime,
When they killed him in his pity, When they killed him in his prime
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Of clemency and calm-- When with yearning he was filled
To redeem the evil-willed,
And, though conqueror, be kind;
But they killed him in his kindness, In their madness and their blindness,
And they killed him from behind.
There is sobbing of the strong,
And a pall upon the land;
But the People in their weeping
Bare the iron hand: Beware the People weeping
When they bare the iron hand.
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He lieth in his blood--
The father in his face; They have killed him, the Forgiver--
The Avenger takes his place,
Who in righteousness shall do What the heavens call him to,
For they killed him in his kindness, In their madness and their blindness,
And his blood is on their hand.
There is sobbing of the strong,
And a pall upon the land;
But the People in their weeping
Bare the iron hand: Beware the People weeping
When they bare the iron hand.
inhabiteth the Mountain
That it shines in lurid light,
And is rolled about with thunders,
And terrors, and a blight,
Like Kaf the peak of Eblis--
Who has gone up with a shouting And a trumpet in the night?
There is battle in the Mountain--
Might assaulteth Might;
'Tis the fastness of the Anarch,
Torrent-torn, an ancient height; The crags resound the clangor
Of the war of Wrong and Right; And the armies in the valley
Watch and pray for dawning light.

Joy, joy, the day is breaking,
And the cloud is rolled from sight;
There is triumph in the Morning For the Anarch's plunging flight;
God has glorified the Mountain
Where a banner burneth bright, And the armies of the valley
They are fortified in right.