Normale Version: PERSECUTION
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0 Persecution ! fearful as thou art,
With scowling brow, and aspect stern and rude,
Thy hands in blood of Innocence imbrued,
Wrung, drop by drop, from many a tortured heart, —

Why should we dread thy gibbet, axe, or stake ?
Thou dost our faith, our hope, our courage try,
And mak'st us valiant where we thought to fly :
Through thee, the crown of Victory we take.

Thy fires but purify our gold from dross ;
Once undiscerned, our value now appears,
Which shall, at interest, increase with years ;
So do we gain by thee, nor suffer loss : —

'Twere base to sacrifice the Truth, to save
Our names from foul reproach — our bodies from the grave.