Of earth, lies deep a terrible abyss !— Turn back to them ! Delicious is their scent, And all around you lies God's earth outspread, There also smiles on you His kindly sun, And there right well ye can His children be ! FRANK. I'll to the Highest devote my earthly fortune ADALBERT. Mine's Bleeping in tho grave—my life is yours. MOLAY. Rush not unheeding to calamity. Retreat is open still ; soon 'twere too late. Hero persecution lies in wait for you, And tribulation ; worldly pleasure dies Within theso halls, desiro of ovil grows More keen by its renouncement ; should you here Give place to it, you'll never rise again ! But e'en should you—I cannot guarantee it— March forth as victor from the deadly fight ; E'en should you win tho Order's highest prize, Tho Saviour's glorious crown of martyrdom, Suppose you that its thorns inflict no wound ? See, I am Master ; painfully I won The noblest prize you might by any means Acquire,—this mantle. I am an old man, I speak not vauntingly, I know full well My strength is nought but merest impotence, And God is mighty in me, who am weak ; Say I for my sake what I say to you ?— I say it to save your souls ! Behold and see ! This linen mantle cost me six red wounds, (baring his head) Feel on my skull and count them for yourselves. One sword-cut would have surely cleft my head Had not your father (to FRANK) warded off the blow. (To both.) Yet little count I these, matched with those wounds That pierced my inmost being, bleeding still ; The giving up of love, denial of that THE TEMPLARS IX CYPRUS. [ACT IV.