A Poem From Memorials of Baptist Martyrs by John Newton Brown (1854)

johnnewtonbrownSeven hundred years, seven hundred years,
Since Truth and Rome together strove;
Since Heaven beheld Italia’s tears,
And ARNOLD spoke the words we love
He spoke;—and Italy arose,
Thrilled by her prophet’s voice of flame;
Religion triumphed o’er her foes,
And Freedom sung her ARNOLD’S name
But ah, the Martyr’s voice was hushed,
His ashes strewed the Tiber’s flood;
Truth, Freedom, Right, by Power were crushed,
And Rome was drunk with holy blood!

by John Newton Brown, 1854


Excerpt From A Poem on Mr. Calamy’s Imprisonment by Robert Wilde

Let me find honey, though upon a road,
And prize the prison, where my keeper’s God:
Newgate or hell were heaven if Christ were there–
He made the stable so, and sepulchre.
Indeed, the place did for your presence call;
Prisons do want perfuming most of all.
Thanks to the bishop and his good lord mayor,
Who turned the den of thieves into a house of prayer;
And may some thief by you converted be,
Like him who suffered in Christ’s company.

by Robert Wilde