Persecution Poem by John William Inchbold

The flames shall brighten and the heat increase,
The winds shall drive around the worn parched heart,
The voice, at times, of God shall almost cease,
The dews and manna of the soul depart;
And yet, whilst feeblest breath of faith remains,
The forces of the world are not our foes,
Fierce flames and cruel tortures bring no pains,
Past silent Death, bright Life with ardour glows,
And leads us on by paths that do not wind,
To rest with God. Then sing, ye children, sing,
Your circling arms with loving arms close twined,
And let the darts the faithless ever fling,
Be hurled within the Church and make her pure,
That faith embrace the world, and bliss be sure.