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A Little BOY Lost
NOUGHT loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to thought
A greater than itself to know:
And, father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door.
The priest sat by and heard the child,
In trembling zeal he seized his hair:
He led him by his little coat,
And all admired the priestly care.
And standing on the altar high:
"Lo! what a fiend is here!" said he:
"One who sets reason up for judge
Of our most holy mystery."
The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain;
They stripp'd him to his little shirt
And bound him in an iron chain;
And burn'd him in a holy place
Where many had been burn'd before:
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such things done on Albion's shore?
