Through the strait pass of suffering— The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God— A stately—shriven—Company— Convulsion—playing round— Harmless—as streaks of Meteor— Upon a Planet's Bond— Their faith—the everlasting troth— Their Expectation—fair— The Needle—to the North Degree— Wades—so—thro' polar Air! --Emily Dickinson