“The solitary Monk who shook the world.”


In Germany, the Gospel light,
By Luther shone, when dead of night
Throughout the world did reign;
Rome curs’d, and curs’d, from morn till noon,
As noisy curs howl at the moon,
As senseless and as vain.

In knowledge and in grace increas’d,
The “powers of darkness,” Pope and Priest,
He boldly challeng’d all:
Amid the storm, the raging flood!
A rock-bas’d Beacon firm he stood,
For Truth, a “brazen wall.”

Hercules in theology!

Fearless, and sons apology,
He club’d Rome’s idols down;­—
Fell’d the old renown’d Tree!
The Pope’s infallibility,

(His shelter, and his crown.)

The popish rooks, and owls, and bats,
Minus crosses, bows, and hats,
Shrieking, cawing, flew;
Their threatenings loud, their bitter bates,
Fall still upon their shaven pates,
And every morning new!

J.H., Leicester, Jan. 1846.



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