The Martyr

The last words of Michael Collins, the murdered Irish patriot, were "Forgive them." When the news of his death reached Dublin scores of young men rushed to enlist in the Free State army.

One who can die with such words on
    his tongue
Shall go unhonored or unsung.
'Tis not alone his nation mourns the
    death
Of one who can so speak with his
    last breath.
Here was a Christian, and a brave
    heart too:
"Forgive them, for they know not
    what they do."

'Tis not alone his nation bows the
    head.
In many lands the bitter word is said
Against the savage pack that pulled
    him down—
The patriot who wears a martyr's
    crown.
But he'd no bitter word for that base
    crew:
"Forgive them, for they know not
    what they do."

Hearts are bowed down, and tears are
    in the eyes
Thro' half a world when such a hero
    dies.
They called him rebel. Yesterday,
    'tis said,
He wandered with a price upon his
    head.
A rebel? Nay, a patriot, thro' and
    thro':
"Forgive them, for they know not
    what they do."

They called him rebel that he schemed
    and planned
To bring sweet Freedom to his native
    land.

His not the will to hold the stress and
    strife;
His not the aim to cheapen human
    life.
His dying writ his clean ambition
    true:
"Forgive them, for they know not
    what they do."

Oh, we self-seekers, toiling ever, so
That we may prosper as thro' life
    we go;
Gaining, acquiring, but to get and
    spend,
To find that we gain nothing at the
    end—
What a great lesson's here for me—
    and you!
"Forgive them, for they know not
    what they do."

They called him rebel, blackguard,
    lout,
But, dying, he has put his foes to
    rout.
Hearts are bowed down, and tears
    are in the eyes
Thro' half a world; and men take
    back their lies.
Sure, he did well the task he had to
    do:
"Forgive them, for they know not
    what they do."