EVEN while I speak, the sacred roofs of France Are shattered into dust; and self-exiled From altars threatened, levelled, or defiled, Wander the Ministers of God, as chance Opens a way for life, or consonance Of faith invites. More welcome to no land The fugitives than to the British strand, Where priest and layman with the vigilance Of true compassion greet them. Creed and test Vanish before the unreserved embrace Of catholic humanity: -- distrest They came, -- and, while the moral tempest roars Throughout the Country they have left, our shores Give to their Faith a fearless resting-place. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPIGRAM: A BURNT SHIP by JOHN DONNE FROM THE IONIAN ISLANDS by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES IT IS FINISHED' by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI GATHERING SONG OF DONALD [OR, DONUI DHU] THE BLACK by WALTER SCOTT MOLLY PITCHER [JUNE 28, 1778] by KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD LUCY (5) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |