Classic Poem

When first God stirr'd me, and the Church's word
Came as a theme of reverent search and fear,
It little cost to own the lustre clear
O'er rule she taught, and rite, and rule she stored;
For conscience craved, and reason did accord
Yet one there was that wore a mien austere,
And I did doubt, and, troubled, ask'd to hear
Whose mouth had force to edge so sharp a sword.
My mother oped her trust, the holy Book;
And heal'd my pang. She pointed, and I found
Christ on Himself, considerate Master, took
The utterance of that doctrine's fearful sound.
The Fount of Love His servants sends to tell
Love's deeds; Himself reveals the sinner's hell.