An Ode to the Martyrs

These are the Martyrs,

true witnesses of Christ.

To the earth, they are

a house among men.

In heaven, their name is

a people appointed by God.

Their foundation is laid in sound doctrine;

integrity is the plaster of their walls.

Righteousness and justice stand

at the threshold of every door.

Mercy and love find their way

into every chamber.

The Martyrs.

Their prophets carry the counsel of God

upon their lips.

Their scribes etch upon scrolls

the wisdom of the Holy One of Israel.

Their minstrels dance

to the ancient melodies of Zion,

to sounds descending

from the cymbals of the heavenly host.

Purity has made her dwelling within their walls.

She walks among their sons and daughters

and keeps them on the holy path.

Their watchers keep guard.

All through the night

they stand upon the walls,

watching over the city

as a lioness watches her cubs.

The thief comes in darkness

and finds the lamps burning.

The adversary presses against the gates

and finds no entrance.

The Martyrs.

The set man,

they call him the Merchant,

called of God,

sent unto the nations.

Jealously he guards the flock.

As a bridegroom cherishes his bride,

so he cherishes and loves them.

When the path of his flock

bends toward destruction,

he does not soften his voice.

With strict diligence

he leads his people

in the ways of the LORD.

He takes up the rod of mercy

and guides his sons along the narrow way.

He fastens upon his daughters

the breastplate of righteousness

and teaches them the songs of praise.

He leads an army of giants,

forged in tribulation.

He marches his battalion toward victory.

The day of adversity knows what to expect

when it meets them.

When the day of battle comes,

it will not find them unprepared.

The Martyrs.

The day you were born,

the foundations of the earth trembled.

The windows of heaven were opened.

A star rose above the house;

the hosts of darkness stirred,

for they read the sign in its rising:

their doom had drawn near.

The adversaries gathered against you.

They stalked the sheep

like ravenous wolves.

For they knew.

Oh, they knew.

This was the clan the Lord had sent

to proclaim His name among the nations.

The Martyrs.

I searched the earth for Truth

and found her abode among you.

For here, Heaven dwells.

The Spirit of the Lord

has made His habitation

upon your altar.

The Holy One of Israel

has set His light upon you.

From your house

a holy generation has risen,

fashioned after the likeness of the Son.

You teach your sons

to wait for the King

with earnest expectation.

You teach your daughters

to keep themselves pure,

even as He is pure.

You are salt upon the earth,

preserving the world from its decay.

You are light in the darkness.

At the dead of night,

I hear the distant wails

of those who lurk beyond the gates,

for the incense of your children's prayers

has risen once again

from the altar of the house.

The Martyrs.

My faithful clan.

Whether the heavens pour

or withhold their rain,

I will march with you

to the mountains of Zion.

By: Marcia E Vormawor.