First of martyrs, thou whose name
Doth thy golden crown proclaim,
Not of flowers that fade away
Weave we this thy crown today. Bright the stones which bruise thee gleam
Sprinkled with thy life blood’s stream;
Stars around thy sainted head
Never could such radiance shed. Every wound upon thy brow
Sparkles with unearthly glow;
Like an angel’s is thy face
Beaming with celestial grace. Oh, how blessèd first to be
Slain for Him Who bled for thee;
First like Him in dying hour
Witness to almighty power. First to follow where He trod
Through the deep Red Sea of blood;
First, but in thy footsteps press
Saints and martyrs numberless. Glory to the Father be,
Glory, Virgin Born, to Thee,
Glory to the Holy Ghost,
Praised by men and heavenly host. |
