Fifty of the Protestant Ballads and " The Anti-Ritualistic Directorium, " of Martin F. Tupper ... New; and reprinted |
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OUR CHURCH. |
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| XVIII. |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
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 | Fifty of the Protestant Ballads |  |
OUR CHURCH.
Mistake me not, my friends—or foes—
I love our Mother well;
Only, my zeal breaks out in blows
To sweep the Temple clean of those
Who came to buy and sell.
I love our Mother well;
Only, my zeal breaks out in blows
To sweep the Temple clean of those
Who came to buy and sell.
37
I love her precious Forms of Pray'r—
Not spoilt by vulgar men;
Her Liturgies, with pious care
Cull'd from the wisest everywhere,
The purest everywhen.
Not spoilt by vulgar men;
Her Liturgies, with pious care
Cull'd from the wisest everywhere,
The purest everywhen.
I love her Service, pure and plain;
—But hold it shameful—quite,
That flaunting Fashion, rich and vain,
Gives tattered Patience so much pain,
Or scares it out of sight.
—But hold it shameful—quite,
That flaunting Fashion, rich and vain,
Gives tattered Patience so much pain,
Or scares it out of sight.
I love her Doctrines, held and taught
In no non-natural sense;
Her tolerant mind, with mercy fraught,
Her just respect for private thought,
Her piety intense.
In no non-natural sense;
Her tolerant mind, with mercy fraught,
Her just respect for private thought,
Her piety intense.
I love her Orders, save the ranks
We compromised with Rome;
For these are due but little thanks:
Deans, Chapters,—would they all were blanks,
Or hunted out of home!
We compromised with Rome;
For these are due but little thanks:
Deans, Chapters,—would they all were blanks,
Or hunted out of home!
I love her System; all the land
Laid out by parish-plot:
But for the scheme, by Mammon plann'd,
Of half a dozen in one hand,
In truth, I like it not,
Laid out by parish-plot:
But for the scheme, by Mammon plann'd,
Of half a dozen in one hand,
In truth, I like it not,
38
I love her Clergy,—where, indeed,
She has a faithful staff;
But, oh! it makes the bosom bleed
To see how few their people feed
With anything but chaff!
She has a faithful staff;
But, oh! it makes the bosom bleed
To see how few their people feed
With anything but chaff!
I love her Laymen, good and true;
And, though I'm one myself,
Will boast that, but for such as you,
A Romanising priestly crew
Had sold Our Church for pelf.
And, though I'm one myself,
Will boast that, but for such as you,
A Romanising priestly crew
Had sold Our Church for pelf.
| Fifty of the Protestant Ballads | |