The loyal
American will tell you
(Southron, take
not that woeful name upon thyself!)
That his
land is God’s City on a Hill.
But it is a
peculiar deity who dwells there:
Where the
chaotic frenzy of democracy
Has replaced
the Grace of St John’s Liturgy;
In the icon
corner squats a TV screen,
Imprinting
on the soul demonic imagery;
Honor to actors
and athletes is given,
Rather than
the Saints who live in Heaven;
Newspapers
choke out spiritual books,
And cash and
coin are holy relics;
Where all
have freedom of religion,
But very few
can find salvation.
Behold, the
New Jerusalem!
Boast of
Yankees and offspring of Puritans.
Antichrist
their king will enter soon
Into the
temple they have built for him.
And from all
their little blasphemies
He will
forge one great and final blasphemy
To hurl at
the Holy Trinity
Before its
blazing lights are darkened
And its shining
walls tumble down upon their heads.
--
Holy
Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð!
Anathema
to the Union!
No comments:
Post a Comment