"Upon this rock" secure she stands, "Tho’ gates of hell" assail, For Truth Eternal spake the word- "They never shall prevail."

My good old Church of England, I love her ancient name, And God forbid this heart should feel One throb to do her shame. A mother she has been to me- A mother’s love has shown, And shall I spum a parent’s arm- A stranger’s call my own?

My dear old Church of England, I’ve heard the tale of blood—

Of hearts that loved her to the death- The great, the wise, the good. The "Faith delivered once" they kept- They burned, they bled, they died; And shall their children’s children now Be traitor’s at their side?

My own dear Church of England, The blood hath not run cold, That cours’d like streams of liquid fire In martyrs’ veins of old,

The cruel blaze their Vitals fed Hath lit another flame,

That warms the blood in every heart Of those who love her name.

I love my Church of England, For she doth love my Lord; She speaks not, and teaches not, But from his written word; Her voice is like my Savour’s voice— Compassionate and kind; He echoes all his precepts pure; He tells me all his mind.

I love my Church of England,

(Summerside Journal, February 12, 1874)

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