Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/187

 Here in this grave a little martyr lies— A little boy who counted but ten years,
 * Killed by his father in a moment dread.
 * This Jewish child amidst the Christian dead,

Was carried by all Prague with groans and sighs, In the Týn Minster amidst many tears.

Killed by his father! ’Tis an awful thought— This Jewish boy had dared to be baptized,
 * Had dared to tell his father of his hope,
 * And bid defiance to the whip and rope

He knew would wait him for the faith he sought, The faith that by his fathers was despised.

Oft when they drove him forth to earn his bread, In the Týn Minster he had stood and heard
 * The gracious message of our blessed Lord,
 * And he in silence stood there and adored.

At length one day a Jesuit priest had said, What brings thee here to listen to the Word?”

And then the Jewish boy his heart outpoured, Told of the love he felt for Him who died,
 * And how he yearned to come within that fold
 * Of perfect peace of which the priest had told.

The monk then told him, from his mind well stored, Things of the faith, for which the poor boy sighed.