The Murder of Bishop Patteson

When far from home some noble martyr dies,
We read his sacred story o'er and o'er;
Like incense, drifting from a sacrifice,
His name blows sweet from that disastrous shore,
O'er the broad waters, to his native land;
But, though our martyr'd saint has fallen asleep,
And closed his ardent eyes, we need not weep;
Unfoil'd the purpose of the Lord shall stand!
His world-wide Church out-grows the powers of Hell,
His holy Ark expands! O'er lands and seas
The golden wings of Cherubim shall meet,
Till all the tribes shall own one Mercy-seat:
The school of faithful prophets shall not cease
With him, who loved his hundred isles so well