Not by the Martyr’s Death Alone

Not by the mar­tyr’s death alone

The saint his crown in Heav’n has won;

There is a tri­umph robe on high

For blood­less fields of vic­to­ry.

What though he was not called to feel

The cross

or flame

or tor­tur­ing wheel

Yet dai­ly to the world he died;

His flesh

through grace

he cru­ci­fied.

What though nor chains

nor scourg­es sore

Nor cru­el beasts his mem­bers tore

Enough if per­fect love arise

For Christ a grate­ful sac­ri­fice.

Lord

grant us so to Thee to turn

That we through life to die may learn

And thus

when life’s brief day is o’er

May live with Thee for­ev­er­more.

O Fount of sanc­ti­ty and love

O per­fect Rest of saints ab­ove

All praise

all glo­ry be to Thee

Both now and through eter­ni­ty.