Sing, O Sons of the Church sounding the Martyrs' praise! God's true soldiers applaud, who, in their weary days, Won bright trophies of good, glad be the voice ye raise, While these heroes of Christ ye sing! They, while yet in the world were by the world abhorred; Felt how fading the joys, fleeting the wealth it stored; Spurned all pleasure for Thee, and at Thy call, O Lord, Came forth strong in Thy Name, as King. Lord, how bravely they bore fury and pain for Thee! Scourge, rod, sword, and the rack strongly endured; but free Sang out, bold in Thy love, longing on high to be; Earth's might never their souls could bend. While they, shedding their blood, victims for Jesus fell, No sound out of their lips came of their throes to tell; Bowed low, patient and meek, loving the Lord so well, Turned they still to the Christ, their Friend. What joys, bright with the blood shed for thy love they share, Those brave Martyrs of Thine crowned with Thy laurels rare; Man's tongue never can tell, never can half declare, How pure now is their bliss above! Yet we, Father on high, God of eternal might, Lift weak voices in prayer asking for peace and light; Cleanse Thou out of our hearts every stain and blight, So our songs may be songs of love.