O when our clergy, at the dreadful Day Shall make their audit, when the Judge shall say "Give your accounts. What, have my lambs been fed? Say, do they all stand sound? Is there none dead By you defaults? Come shepherds, bring them forth That I may crown your labours in their worth', O, what an answer will be given by some! "We have been silenced; Canons struck us dumb; The great ones would not let us feed thy flock, Unless we played the fools and wore a frock; We were forbid unless we'd yield to sign And cross their brows -- they say, a mark of thine. To say the truth, great Judge, they were not fed. Lord, here they be; but Lord, they be all dead.' Ah, cruel shepherds! Could your conscience serve Not to be fools, and yet to let them starve? What if your fiery spirits had been bound To antic habits, or your heads been crowned With peacock's plumes, had ye been forced to feed Your Saviour's dear-brought flock in a fool's weed, He that was scorned, reviled, endured the curse Of a base death in your behalf -- nay worse, Swallowed the cup of wrath charged up to the brim -- Durst ye not stoop to play the fools for him? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CARELESS CONTENT by JOHN BYROM SWITZERLAND AND ITALY by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES WORDLY WISE (5) by MOTHER GOOSE THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE by ROBERT SOUTHEY CAFE TORTONI ('81) by WILLIAM ROSE BENET CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE: TO IANTHE, AND CANTO 1 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |