WHERE late ye fled a flock of fugitives,
Scattered like sheep before a ravening beast,
Because your Christ was dead, now that He lives
And ye have seen Him, all your fears have ceased,
Nor Herod, Pilate, Sanhedrim or priest
Can awe you any more; for Pentecost
Hath signed your brows with flame, and so increased
Your zeal for Christ that each man is a host,
Eager to meet what other men fear most
And what the rest desire esteeming least;
So Peter, who denied, again can boast
That d**h is welcome as a marriage feast.
Transformed by grace, no more his soul shall quail,
Nor 'gainst the Rock the gates of Hell prevail.