“It was fitting for God, in whom and through whom all things were made, that in bringing many sons to glory He should therefore make the Captain of their salvation perfect through suffering. (Heb. 2:10)
“Ave Imperator, morituri te salutano.”
I see before me the Gladiator lie:
He leans upon his hand–his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony.
As his droop’d head sinks gradually low–
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow,
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,
Like the first of a thunder shower; and now
A the arena around him swims–he is gone.
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail’d the wretch who won,
He heard it, but heeded not–his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away;
He reck’d not of the life he lost, nor the prize he’d won,
As all rush’d with this his blood.
Shall he expire…and unavenged?
Arise, ye brothers-in-arms and whence?
Toward the distant sound of thunder,
for glory and honor of a life well-lived!
(Lord Byron)
CoupStick Chaplain 