O Prince of glory, if it be thy will 70
That with the sword's keen edge perfidious men
Put me at rest, I am prepared straightway
To suffer whatsoever Thou, my Lord,
Who givest bliss to that high angel-band,
Shalt send me as my portion in this world,
A homeless wanderer, O Lord of hosts.
In mercy grant to me, Almighty God,
Light in this life, lest, blinded in this town
By hostile swords, I needs must longer bear
Reviling words, the grievous calumny
Of slaughter-greedy men, of hated foes. 80
On Thee alone, Protector of the world,
I fix my mind, my heart's unfailing love;
So, Father of the angels, Lord of hosts,
Bright Giver of all bliss, to Thee I pray,
That Thou appoint me not among my foes,
Artificers of wrong forever damned,
The death most grievous on this earth of Thine."

After these words there came to his dark cell
A sacred sign all-glorious from heaven,
Like to the shining sun; then was it shown 90
That holy God was working aid for him.
The voice of Heaven's Majesty was heard,
The music of the glorious Lord's sweet words,
Wondrous beneath the skies. To His true thane
Brave in the fight, in dungeon harsh confined,
He promised help and comfort with clear voice:--
"Matthew, My peace on earth I give to thee;