The Paradise Of Martyrs - Dedication Poem by Thomas Cooper

TO WILLIAM EDWARD FORSTER

I DEDICATE this book to you who sought
Me out, when you had read my Prison-Rhyme—
Disdainful of what cowards and serviles thought
Of one who had worn the fetters for no crime—
But only had lived and striven before his time,
And let his heart impel him to the deed
Of championship defiant for the Poor,
Their right to live by labour, and be freed
Indeed—not mocked with freedom—on the shore
Where Freedom hath her boast.
Kindness doth breed
Grateful remembrance in the inmost core
Of true men's hearts, when done to them in need.
Let me be named with those who ne'er forget
A kindness: reckoning it a great life-debt.

My friend, our lot in stormful time is cast;
And who to God and Conscience, reverent, own
Inviolable fealty should hold fast
Each other's hands, in spite of peasants' frown
Or nobles'. Your great path of Duty strown
With difficulty may be for many a day;
And, sometimes, you may have to strive alone;
But shoulder to shoulder with you, in the fray,
Shall stand the good and true, when heat is gone,
And party spleen,—and all perceive dismay
At serried foes doth never cast you down,
Nor difficulty your patient courage allay;
But your consistent course to all men shews
What you are now you will be to Life's close.

I shall not live to see your toil complete;
But know your steady aim to the end will be
Still to preserve Old England the firm seat
Of grandest freedom, and to give the key
Of knowledge unto all. Felicity
The highest that our fatherland can share
You wish to see her win: that every child
Be trained so wisely and well, it may with care
The laws which freemen love keep undefiled,
Nor heedless be of holier laws that bear
The Maker's fiat. Toiling, unbeguiled
By smiles, unquelled by frowns, the pearl still wear
Of an unsullied conscience, and your joy
Throughout Life's path, no censure shall destroy!