EVEN while I speak, the sacred roofs of France Are shattered into dust; and self-exiled From altars threatened, levelled, or defiled, Wander the Ministers of God, as chance Opens a way for life, or consonance Of faith invites. More welcome to no land The fugitives than to the British strand, Where priest and layman with the vigilance Of true compassion greet them. Creed and test Vanish before the unreserved embrace Of catholic humanity: -- distrest They came, -- and, while the moral tempest roars Throughout the Country they have left, our shores Give to their Faith a fearless resting-place. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAKE (VERSION 2) by EDGAR ALLAN POE ON PASSING THE NEW MENIN GATE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE AMONG THE REDWOODS by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL COR CORDIUM by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER by JOANNA BAILLIE GRISELDA: CHAPTER 4 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |