To whom she clings all faithful, gives her pow'r
To meet the terrors of life's closing hour.
They bind her hands—she heeds not the infliction
Of cords that sink into her tender limb;
She, thinking of her Saviour's crucifixion—
Her soul hath flown to Calvary to Him.
She meekly hears each heathen malediction,
Heav'n seems to ope as earth appears more dim;
Her fate severe for thrones she would not barter,
And now she sinks—a Christian Maiden Martyr!