Surely martyrs, irrespective of the special phase of the divine idea for which they gladly give up their bodies to torture and to death, are the truest heroes of history.

O beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife, who more than self their country loved, and mercy more than life!

These are neither heroes nor martyrs nor saints.

They shall not pass till the stars be darkened: Two swords crossed in front of the Hun; Never a groan but God has harkened, Counting their cruelties one by one.

Love planted a rose, and the world turned sweet.

It is the hour to rend thy chains, the blossom time of souls.