In killing thee the men, who to the light
Darkness prefer, would shroud the world in night.
Vain hope! for on the day of this great wrong
The sun of truth arose on England's throng
With not a cloud t' obscure its splendor bright.
What though the men of Rome did strangle thee,
Then burn thy body at the stake? Thy name
Is honor'd in the earth, while infamy
Attends thy foes, and bigots blush with shame.
But more than this: in the last day God's Son