Posted by: the watchmen | November 10, 2007

"Our Fathers knew thee, Rome of old"

Our Fathers knew thee, Rome of old,
And evil is thy fame;
Thy fond embrace, the galling chain;

Thy blessing, fierce anathema;
Thy honeyed words, deceit;
Thy worship, base idolatry;
Thy sacrament, a cheat.

The Mystery of Wickedness,
Right surely is thy name.
The Harlot in the Bride’s attire,
As all thy ways proclaim.

No peace with Rome shall be our cry,
While Rome abides the same;
We’ll let her know that Protestants
Will not disgrace their name.

Our martyred Fathers’ dying words
As at the stake they stood
Bid us resist thee to the end,
Words written in their blood.

Long hast thou sat in Queen’s attire,
Of purple, pearls and gold;
O soon shalt thou be stripped of all—
Thrown down be thy stronghold.

Thy sentence dread is now pronounced,
Soon shalt thou pass away.
O soon shall earth have rest and peace—
Good Lord, haste Thou that day.


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