Classic Poem

The Son of God goes forth to war,
— A kingly crown to gain;
His blood-red banner streams afar!
— Who follows in His train?
Who best can drink his cup of woe,
— Triumphant over pain,
Who patient bears his cross below,
— He follows in His train!

Thy martyr first, whose eagle eye
— Could pierce beyond the grave;
Who saw his Master in the sky,
— And called on Him to save:
Like Him, with pardon on his tongue,
— In midst of mortal pain,
He prayed for them that did the wrong!
— Who follows in His train?

A glorious band, the chosen few,
— On whom the Spirit came;
Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew,
— And mocked the cross and flame!
They met the tyrant's brandished steel
— The lion's gory mane:
They bowed their necks, the death to feel!
— Who follows in their train?

A noble army — men and boys,
— The matron and the maid, —
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice
— In robes of light arrayed.
They climbed the steep ascent of Heaven,
— Through peril, toil, and pain!
O God! to us may grace be given
— To follow in their train!