The Canticle

A minor nation we may be
Antique and all alone,
In dark days clinging to old canticles.
But bright is the ancient fay
Of true religion in its day
When the world turned to its weird of Atheism.
Druids worship by sex and murder;
We, so peaceful, with a joyous song.
We harm no one, but are hated
For we shun all that is strong.
We by peace and love do worship
And by gathering alms for the poor.
We worship with the Mass
And Christ's bread and wine adore.