Martyr Me

Martyrdom of Saint Ignatius of Antioch by Cesare Fracanzano (1605-1651)

I’ve drunk deep the cup of misery

And found it turned to the richest wine.

Nights of black sorrow have buried me;

Yet the morn shines on a sprouted vine.

I see Heaven through the lion’s jaw,

The gleam of gold in the drawn sword.

I sleep under stones, my bed of straw,

And dream of pure treasure safely stored.

I sing praises with a severed tongue

And taste milk and honey in my tears.

Jeers resound in the colosseum

Like a choir of angels in my ears.

What can a world so generous do

To a creature running a race

But give him a shorter way through,

Indeed, to give him first place?

Dedication: To St. Ignatius of Antioch