Poems (Terry, 1861)/The death of tankerfield
THE DEATH OF TANKERFIELD.
The death of holy Tankerfield, That martyr of the Lord's,And his great worth I do set forth As seasonable words.
In young King Edward's blessed time, A Papist vile was he;Uncleansèd from the filthy slime Of vain idolatry.
But when it pleased the Lord most high To take the king away,Unto his everlasting rest, To be with him alway,—
When bloody Mary's reign began, Wherein the flock of ChristDid wander through the valleys low, And stumble in the mist,—
Then, as he saw what cruel pains From men they did endure,And suffered pangs of many deaths To make their glory sure—
His heart was moved and stirred within To see their evil tide,And that foul church which wrought the sin He might no more abide.
But turned unto the sacred Word, To light his darksome soul;And learned to leave that faith abhorred That would his mind control
And did bis feeble voice uplift To make a protest bold,—Renouncing all the devil's works, To which he clave of old.
Thereat unto his house there came A man of cruel mind,By name one Byrd, who -thought no shame This godly youth to bind.
Before the judge they haled him then, Who sent him back apace, Unto a doleful prison-cell, Where he remained a space.
But when before the court he came, To answer for his faith,Of Christ the Lord he was not shamed, But owned him unto death.
So, when the summer-tide was come, And all the fields were green,And flowers upon the dewy meads Were joyful to be seen,
They brought him®from his dungeon-cell Unto a certain Inn,And bade him to remember well The wages of his sin.
For that he never more should see The rising of the sun."Then," with a cheerful voice, quoth he, "Good Lord, thy will be done!
"Now, bring me here a cup of wine, Withal a wheaten cake,To keep the Supper of the Lord, Ere I my end do make.
"I may not have a minister To break this bread to me,But by thy passion, gracious Lord, Lay not the sin to me!
"I fain would keep thy feast again Before I drink it new,To aid my flesh in deathly pain, And keep my spirit true."
So, giving thanks, he took the bread, And drank the sacred wine,Which now in heaven he doth partake From chalices divine.
Then prayed he them to light a fire, That he his strength might try;The host did grant him his desire, And stood amazed by:
For, lo! he stretched his naked foot Into the scorching flame,But bone and sinew quivering shrank, And loud he spake in pain:—
"Ho, flesh! thou wilt not gladly burn, But spirit shall endure; Ho, sense! thou wouldst from glory turn, But soul thou shalt make sure!"
Then, as the time drew on apace That he by fire should die,He kneeled again and prayed for grace To bear his agony.
Then, with a calm and pleasant smile, Saith he,—"However longThe day may seem, yet at the last It rings for even-song."
The sheriffs brought him to a green, Hard by the abbey-wall,And seeing there the fagots piled, They spake aloud to all.
"A dinner sharp is mine to-day," Quoth he, with joyful faith,"But I shall sup on heavenly cates, "And triumph over death."
When he was fettered to the stake, They heaped the pile full high,And called a priest, with "subtle words To shake his constancy.
But loudly he denied the mass And all the works of Rome,So might not Babylonish tricks Delay his passage home.
A certain knight, who stood thereby, Laid hold upon his hand.Quoth he, "Good brother in the Lord, Be strong in Christ, and stand."
"Oh, sir!" the martyr made reply, "I give you thanks indeed.May God be lauded, I am strong!" With that they bade him heed.
And set the fire unto the pile: When, as the flame shot high,Unto the strong and mighty One He powerfully did cry.
Yea, from the depths uplifted he A cry for help to God,And homeward then, on fiery wings, Right joyfully he rode.