Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/28

The crown of martyrdom ye soon shall wear;
An endless bliss is mine; I go to thee.”
Then, kneeling down, he prayed unto his God,
Prayed for his country, and for those who sent
His spirit to that kingdom where all laud;
And bowing down his head to God he went.
The next to die was Harant, full of woe,
Not at his death, but that the priests would take
His children in their care, when he was low,
And they their father’s faith must needs forsake.
Perhaps the saddest sight was to behold
Poor Kaplíř, with his crutches, go to death;
And in a touching story we are told
How the old man prepared himself for death.
The pastor, Rosacius, who scorned to live,
And see his brethren die, tells how he went,
And found him in his cell prepared to give
With radiant joy his body old and bent.
“Long I have prayed the Lord,” the old man said,
“To take me from this world of sorrow sore.
And lo! He heard me not, I must be led
To feel some pangs our blessed Saviour bore.
It was His will that with my ninety years
I should go from the scaffold to the throne—
Leave all this misery, all these bitter tears,
And be at rest forever. God alone
Knows in my heart I have no sinful thought,
Nor ever had, ’gainst the dear land I love.
Dear Master, in the faith that you have taught,
I die, and we shall meet above.”
And as he stood, and waited for the call,
Upon his crutches, with his white head bent
In prayer for the souls that unappalled,
With fearless faces, to the scaffold went.
They held him out a pardon; “Would he say
That he had erred, and thereby save his life?”
But sternly the old man said, “Go your way,
Ye devilish tempters, that but seek out strife.
Heaven breaks upon my view, should earth awake
One vain regret? Nay, I am glad to die
A martyr for my land, and my faith’s sake;
Christ will reward me; ’tis to Him I fly.”