Aid, glorious Martyrs, from your fields of light,
Our mortal ken! Inspire a perfect trust
(While we look round) that Heaven’s decrees are just:
Which few can hold committed to a fight
That shows, ev’n on its better side, the might
Of proud Self-will, Rapacity, and Lust,
‘Mid clouds enveloped of polemic dust,
Which showers of blood seem rather to incite
Than to allay. Anathemas are hurled
From both sides; veteran thunders (the brute test
Of truth) are met by fulminations new
Tartarean flags are caught at, and unfurled
Friends strike at friends, the flying shall pursue
And Victory sickens, ignorant where to rest!
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth
More by William Wordsworth
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXXVII - English Reformers In Exile
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXXVIII - Elizabeth
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - I - I Saw The Figure Of A Lovely Maid
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - II - Patriotic Sympathies
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - III - Charles The Second
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