THE MARTYRS.
Faithful to God, 'mid persecutions dire,
The lion-hearts of old still firmly stood,
Unawed by terrors of the block or fire,
For truth and freedom freely gave their blood;
The path of duty lay before them plain,
And boldly they advanced, nor turned again.
A throne cast down, erected was once more,
An exiled king, a nation, welcomed back;
Planted in blood it was, and tears, and gore,
Its only props the scaffold and the rack;
And there the brave and good did nobly fall,
That Christ the Saviour might be all in all,
Calmly the martyr Guthrie met his fate,
A victim to oppression's cruel laws,
Nor would, for proudest prelate's form and state,
A traitor turn to his dear Master's cause;
With him no joy on earth so great could be,
As thus to die for Christ's supremacy.
On the lone mountains of their native land,
Where blooms the heather fragrantly and fair,
In the green valleys waved by breezes bland,
Struck mercilessly down while met in prayer,
Lie Scotland's martyrs in their nameless moulds,
Sustained by Him who the great worlds upholds. (8)