Poem by Thomas Babington Macaulay

Epitaph on Henry Martyn

HERE Martyn lies. In Manhood's early bloom
The Christian Hero finds a Pagan tomb.
Religion, sorrowing o'er her favourite son,
Points to the glorious trophies that he won.
Eternal trophies! not with carnage red,
Not stained with tears by hapless captives shed,
But trophies of the Cross! for that dear name,
Through every form of danger, death, and shame,
Onward he journeyed to a happier shore,
Where danger, death, and shame assault no more.

1. Naseby
2. A Song of the Huguenots
3. Lines Written in August
4. Lines to the Memory of Pitt
5. A Radical War Song

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