THE Church shone brightly in her youthful days Ere the world on her smiled; So now, an outcast, she would pour her rays Keen, free, and undefiled: Yet would I not that arm of force were mine, Which thrusts her from her awful ancient shrine. 'Twas duty bound each convert-king to rear His Mother from the dust, And pious was it to enrich, nor fear Christ for the rest to trust; And who shall dare make common or unclean What once has on the Holy Altar been? Dear brothers! -- hence, while ye for ill prepare, Triumph is still your own; Blest is a pilgrim Church! -- yet shrink to share The curse of throwing down. So will we toil in our old place to stand, Watching, not dreading, the despoiler's hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LIFE'S MIRROR by MARY AINGE DE VERE FRIENDSHIP by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE BELLS OF LYNN; HEARD AT NAHANT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THEOCRITUS; A VILLANELLE by OSCAR WILDE A SONG ABOUT SINGING by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH SONNET: A PREACHER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH FOUR SONNETS: 2 by FRANK DAVIS ASHBURN DEDICATIONS AND INSCRIPTIONS: 8. BEAM-VERSES AT WELL KNOWE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |