ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS
XXXII
ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS
COLDLY we spake. The Saxons, overpowered By wrong triumphant through its own excess, From fields laid waste, from house and home devoured By flames, look up to heaven and crave redress From God’s eternal justice. Pitiless Though men be, there are angels that can feel For wounds that death alone has power to heal, For penitent guilt, and innocent distress. And has a Champion risen in arms to try His Country’s virtue, fought, and breathes no more; 10 Him in their hearts the people canonize; And far above the mine’s most precious ore The least small pittance of bare mould they prize Scooped from the sacred earth where his dear relics lie.