The 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 siez'd his hair:
He led him by his little coat:
And all admir'd his 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 strip'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 Albions shore.

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