Flung to the Heedless Winds

Flung to the heed­less winds

Or on the wa­ters cast

The mar­tyrs’ ashes

watched

Shall ga­thered be at last.

And from that scat­tered dust

Around us and abroad

Shall spring a plen­te­ous seed

Of wit­ness­es for God.

The Fa­ther hath re­ceived

Their lat­est liv­ing breath

And vain is Sa­tan’s boast

Of vic­to­ry in their death.

Still

still

though dead

they speak

And

trum­pet tongued

pro­claim

To ma­ny a wak­en­ing land

The one avail­ing name.