O Martyrs young and fresh as flowers,
Your day was in its morning hours
When Christ was sought and you were found
Like rain-strewn petals on the ground.

How weak to hurt you was the king!
You are Christ's morning offering,
His pretty lambs, his children, gay
With martyr-crowns and palms at play.

And you had cheated Herod's rage,
You little boys of Jesus' age;
For he whom Herod sought to slay,
Jesus, untouched escaped away.

Glory, O Christ the Lord to thee,
Child of the blessed Virgin, be,
Whom with the Father we adore
And Holy Spirit evermore.


Prudentius
tr. J. M. C. Crum