 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
290
OUR PROTESTANTISM.
Apostates, not apostles! ye shall hearThro' my weak tongue indignant England's voice;
At you her patriots groan, her foes rejoice,
For you sad Zion drops the bitter tear:
Alas! our prophets fail, our princes fear,
The wise men stumble, and the seers are blind,
And ye, our sacred guardians, are of those
Who, placed in power on earth to loose and bind,
Seem weak as doves truth's tottering cause to aid,
And shrewd as serpents to befriend her foes:
Fear, for yourselves; for, if no ravening Rome,
On whom ye doat so tenderly afraid,
Shall rend the shepherds who their trust betray'd,
Your very sheep shall find you fears at home.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |