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 SATURNINUS

He might have won the highest guerdon that heaven to earth can give, For whoso falleth for justice—dying, he yet shall live.

He might have left us his memory to flame as a beacon light, When clouds of the false world's raising shut the stars of heaven from sight.

He might have left us his name to ring in our triumph song When we stand, as we'll stand at to-morrow's dawn, by the grave of a world-old wrong.

For he gave thee, O mother of valiant sons, thou fair, and sore oppressed, The love of his youth and his manhood's choice—first-fruits of his life, and best.

Thine were throb of his heart and thought of his brain and toil of his strong right hand; For thee he braved scorn and reviling, and loss of gold and land,

Threat and lure and false-hearted friend, and blight of a broken word— Terrors of night and delay of light—prison and rack and sword.