Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/29

Then slowly walking to the fatal block,
The brave old man knelt down upon the floor.
“Oh, Lord, my God, Thou art a very rock,
In times of trouble. Christ, be thou the door
Through which I enter on the life divine.”
The executioner paused, he could not strike
That bowed white head, although the given sign
Was given by the judges all alike.
So then a priest came up and said, “My lord,
In your own way, you have called on your God—
I pray you raise your head on high, my lord,
One moment more and you are with your God.”
Smiling, he raised his head, and it was so.
Ah, me! ah, me! my heart is sad to think
Of all the fearless souls that were laid low,
And sometimes as I pausing stand and think,
On the old city square, I seem to see
The scaffold and the drummers standing round,
And the vast multitude of people like a sea,
Rising now here, now there, with a dull sound
Of cursing on the scene that they behold,
And prayers for the ones about to die,
And curses on the soldiers over bold,
That only laughed to hear the people sigh.
And with a start I wake to see the square,
Silent and lonely in the midday sun.
No matter, honor be to those who dare
Die unto God, although their days be done.
For their remembrance, shall like scattered seed,
Bloom into flowers in some far-off day,
And they with joy unutterable shall lead
Their followers unto Him who is the way.
And He with gracious voice shall say: “Well done,
Ye faithful servants, enter in the joy,
That was prepared for you before the sun;
Enter the peace now that knows no alloy.”