Where Is The Flame Of Love Divine

Where is the flame of love divine,
That burned so bright in bygone days;
That made the martyrs’ faces shine,
And filled their dying lips with praise?
That flame that in their bosoms burned,
Like fagot fires in which they stood,
That love that o’er their murd’rs yearned,
And made them pray “Forgive them, Lord?”

That made our fathers count but dross,
The fleeting things of time and sense;
And richer by their earthly loss,
The kingdom took by violence;
We seek the ancient land marks Lord,
Where once thy tabernacle stood.
We’ll take the way the ancients trod,
Though strewn with martyrs’ stakes and blood.