The Royal Martyrs Poem by Patti Masterman

Morning star,
Shine oh so softly down
On gentle sleepy villages,
And weary rustling pines.
Rain fall tenderly,
Meekly, mildly:
For saints of men
Have walked this ground.
Oh trees so thick and strong,
Stretching your limbs up
To touch pure rays of sun-
Let not this beauty blind you;
For great sorrow and trial
Once abided in this realm:
Angels have breathed this
Same crystal air,
And spread their sheathed wings
Upon this stained ground.