With earnest look, to every voyager
Some ragged child holds up for sale a store
Of wave-worn pebbles, pleading on the shore
Where once came monk and nun with gentle stir,
Blessings to give, news ask, or suit prefer.
But see yon neat trim church, a grateful speck
Of novelty amid the sacred wreck--
Nay spare thy scorn, haughty Philosopher!
Fallen though she be, this Glory of the west,
Still on her sons the beams of mercy shine;
And "hopes, perhaps more heavenly bright than thine,
A grace by thee unsought and unpossest,
A faith more fixed, a rapture more divine,
Shall gild their passage to eternal rest." 11
Design, coding, and editing: Copyright © 1998 by James M. Garrett. All rights reserved.