The Saviour's name is hymn'd in daily prayer,
The winds of heaven their memories tender waft,
Commix'd with all the sorceries of the craft.
The little leather artizan—the boy
To whom the shoe is yet but as a toy,
A thing to smile and look at, ere the day
Severer task will make it one of pay
(A constant duty and a livelihood),—
He, the young Crispin, emulous and good,
Is told of the Prince Martyrs—sometimes Royal!