A man distinguished in merit, Quirinus, pleasing to God, the walls of the city of Siscia cherish in a fatherly embrace as the martyr granted to them. Here, under the leadership of Galerius, who then pressed the Illyrian regions with his dominion, he is said to have illumined the catholic faith by his death. Neither the sword's rigor, nor flames, nor wild beasts slew him with cruel destruction, but the flood, while it carries him off, washes him in the river's waters. It matters not whether the passion stains the martyr from a glassy expanse or from a river of blood; equally does the glory come forth, moistened by whatever flood. From the top of a lofty bridge the bishop of the holy people is cast headlong into the river, bearing, hung from a noose, the stone of a huge millstone.
The most placid eddy of the stream receives him cast down and does not suffer him to sink, holding up by wondrous floatings the vast weight of the stone for him. From the dry land the timorous flocks watch from afar their teacher; for the thronging people of Christ had hedged the windings of the banks with a packed column. But Quirinus, as he raised his face up high, alas, sees his own people fearful at his example; mindful of no peril of his own amid the waters, he strengthens their pious hearts with gentle words, asking that no such things terrify any one, nor that steadfast faith waver, nor that they think it a punishment to die. As he speaks, the floating waters of the river carry him upon their tides, nor does the depth spread out beneath dare of its own accord to gape open for the stone and the noose and the man.
The martyr bishop felt that the palm of death and of his departure was now being snatched away from him already gained, and that his ascent to the throne of the eternal Father was being denied: 'O almighty Jesus,' he says, 'this glory is by no means strange or new to you, to tread down the roaring of the sea and to halt the rivers. We know the disciple Peter, when, trembling, he wet his footsteps with mortal foot, by the aid of your right hand laid the sea beneath solid ground; the Jordan too we know, wandering with its twisting eddies, while it is borne along in rapid course, fled back to its source by waters flowing in reverse. These are the miracles of your power, Lord, that, just now I am suspended, floating lightly, while I drag a crag at my neck on the topmost surge of the river. Now the title of you is complete, and the power of your name is shown forth, which heathen amazement dully fails to grasp:
release, I pray, O most good one, the delays of this soul now. What you can do, the river proves, the water which bears a flint-stone. This now, which yet remains, I yield, than which nothing is more precious, in exchange—O Christ God—to die!' As he prays, at once both breath and voice and warmth forsake him; his spirit climbs the heights, the stony weight grows heavy, and the waters receive his body.