Classic Poem

When England turned apostate at the will
Of mighty heretics, and was their thrall,
God raised up thee to plead for her, Saint Paul,
Long years of bitter penance to fulfil.

God suffered thee to agonise until
Thou hadst drunk fifty years her cup of gall:
Remember still, remember England's fall;
Entreat before the Lord for England still

The Passion was thy daily food of thought;
The burden of the Passion filled thy days;
Till, God allowing, it was almost wrought
In miniature in thee, who mad'st thy ways
A mimic march to Golgotha. Ah, what
Must be thy consolation, what thy praise!