HUGH LATIMER

His lips amid the flame outsent

A music strong and sweet,

Like some unearthly instrument

That's played upon by heat.

As spice-wood tough, laid on the coal,

Sets all its perfume free,

The incense of his hardy soul

Rose up exceedingly.

To open that great flower, too cold

Were sun and vernal rain;

But fire has forced it to unfold,

Nor will it shut again.