The Book of Martyrs

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Read, sweet, how others strove,
Till we are stouter ;
What they renounced,
Till we are less afraid ;
How many times they bore
The faithful witness,
Till we are helped,
As if a kingdom cared !

Read then of faith
That shone above the fagot ;
Clear strains of hymn
The river could not drown ;
Brave names of men
And celestial women,
Passed out of record
Into renown !

from Poems by Emily Dickinson (1890)

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