Sorrow of saints is sorrow of a day,
Gladness of saints is gladness evermore:
Send on your hope, send on your will before,
To chant God's praise along the narrow way.
Stir up His praises if the flesh would sway,
Exalt His praises if the world press sore,
Peal out His praises if black Satan roar
A hundred thousand lies to say them nay.
Devil and Death and Hades, three-fold cord
Not quickly broken, front you to your face;
Front thou them with a face of tenfold flint:
Shout for the battle, David! never stint.
Body or breath or blood, but, proof in grace,
Die for your Lord, as once for you your Lord.
From The Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti
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