A Poem of St. Agnes
The little lambs on heaven's field
remind me of a girl who fought
against the darkness, for the fair,
whose heart was free from trembling fear,
who would not falter, did not fail,
but held her ground against the foe.
"I faithful stay to Spouse and Friend,
my Jesus; I am truly free
with him," she said, her voice not faint.
And then she bent her head, with faith
exposed her neck. The death-stroke fell.
Agnes and Emerentiana
The world in rage will not endure
a girl who hears a higher call;
to blood it turns a prayer pure
and destines her to velvet pall.
And should a girl on girl depend
to keep her image to the end,
the world will hate as well her friend,
for friendship is the purest art.
It hates the pure -- such will not bend,
through grace transcending scripted part.
Then sword will fall, or stones descend --
they die unconquered, pure of heart.