Crispin and Crispianus! they who sought
Safety with us, and at the calling wrought:
Martyrs to Truth, who in old times were cast
Lorn outcasts forth to labour at the last!
Mould the stout sole, sew with the woven thread,
Make the good fit, and win their daily bread.
This was their strait and doing—this their doom;
They sought our shelter, and they found a home!
Helpless and hapless, wandering to and fro,
Weary they came and hid them from the foe;