And is there who the blessed cross wipes of
As a foul blot from his dishonour’d brow?—
If angels tremble, ’tis at such a sight.
Young.
O Antioch, thou teacher of the world!—
From out thy portals passed the feet of those,
Who, banished and despised, have made thy name
The next in rank to proud Jerusalem.
Within thy gates the persecuted few,