A Little Boy Lost

‘Nought loves another as itself, 
Nor venerates another so, 
Nor is it possible to thought 
A greater than itself to know. 

‘And, father, how can I love you 
Or any of my brothers more? 
I love you like the little bird 
That picks up crumbs around the door.’ 

The Priest sat by and heard the child; 
In trembling zeal he seized his hair, 
He led him by his little coat, 
And all admired his priestly care. 

And standing on the altar high, 
‘Lo, what a fiend is here!’ said he: 
‘One who sets reason up for judge 
Of our most holy mystery.’ 

The weeping child could not be heard, 
The weeping parents wept in vain: 
They stripped him to his little shirt, 
And bound him in an iron chain, 

And burned him in a holy place 
Where many had been burned before; 
The weeping parents wept in vain. 
Are such things done on Albion’s shore?