When first GOD stirr'd me, and the Church's word

Came as a theme of reverent search and fear,

It little cost to own the lustre clear

O'er rule she taught, and rite, and doctrine, pour'd;

For conscience craved, and reason did accord.

Yet one there was that wore a mien austere,

And I did doubt, and, troubled, ask'd to hear

Whose mouth had force to edge so sharp a sword.

My Mother oped her trust, the holy Book;

And heal'd my pang. She pointed, and I found

CHRIST on Himself, considerate Master, took

The utterance of that doctrine's fearful sound.

The Fount of Love His servants sends to tell

Love's deeds; Himself reveals the sinner's hell.