The Martyr Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


Not only on cross and gibbetA
By sword and fire and floodA
Have perished the world s sad martyrsB
Whose names are writ in bloodA
A woman lay in a hovelC
Mean dismal gasping for breathD
One friend alone was beside herE
The name of him was DeathD
For the sake of her orphan childrenF
For money to buy them foodA
She had slaved in the dismal hovelC
And wasted her womanhoodA
Winter and Spring and SummerE
Came each with a load of caresG
And Autumn to her brought onlyH
A harvest of gray hairsG
Far out in the bless d countryH
Beyond the smoky townI
The winds of God were blowingJ
Evermore up and downI
The trees were waving signalsK
Of joy from the bush beyondA
The gum its blue green bannerE
The fern its dark green frondA
Flower called to flower in whispersB
By sweet caressing namesL
And young gum shoots sprang upwardA
Like woodland altar flamesL
And deep in the distant rangesM
The magpie s fluting songN
Roused musical mocking echoesO
In the woods of DandenongN
And riders were galloping gailyH
With loose held flowing reinsP
Through dim and shadowy gulliesQ
Across broad treeless plainsP
And winds through the Heads came waftingN
A breath of life from the seaH
And over the blue horizonF
The ships sailed silentlyH
And out of the sea at morningN
The sun rose golden brightA
And in crimson and gold and purpleC
Sank in the sea at nightA
But in dreams alone she saw themR
Her hours of toil betweenS
For life to her was onlyH
A heartless dead machineS
Her heart was in the graveyardA
Where lay her children threeH
Nor work nor prayer could save themR
Nor tears of agonyH
On the lips of her last and dearestA
Pressing a farewell kissT
She cried aloud in her anguishU
Can God make amends for thisT
Dull desperate ceaseless slavingN
Bereft her of power to prayV
And Man was careless and cruelC
And God was far awayV
But who shall measure His merciesQ
His ways are in the deepW
And after a life of sorrowX
He gave her His gift of sleepW
Rest comes at last to the wearyH
And freedom to the slaveY
Her tired and worn out bodyH
Sleeps well in its pauper graveY
But His angel bore her soul upZ
To that Bright Land and FairA2
Where Sorrow enters neverE
Nor any cloud of CareA2
They came to a lovely valleyH
Agleam with asphodelH
And the soul of the woman speakingN
Said Here I fain would dwellH
The Angel answered gentlyH
O Soul most pure and dearB2
O Soul most tried and truestA
They dwelling is not hereC2
Behold thy place appointedA
Long kept long waiting comeD2
Where bloom on the hills of heavenF
The roses of MartyrdomD2

Victor James Daley


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