Paddy's Farewell to the Priest

The Priest of the Parish got up in the morn, And ordered his clerk all the people to warn, Before his Tribunal each one should appear. Where he sat as God their “confessions” to hear. Then Paddy rose up and sent the Priest word That his soul had escaped from the snare, like a bird From the net of the fowler, and now he would tell His reasons for bidding his Reverence farewell. Farewell and for ever to teachers of lies, Your own Douay Bible has opened my eyes; I see your impostures a plain as the light; You only can flourish in darkness and night. Your merchandise now has no charms for me, For the “Pearl of Great Price” in the Scriptures I see: The joys that now fill me no language can tell, So, Priest of the Parish, I bid you farewell. Farewell to your worship of pictures and stones, Your rags and your relics, your rotten old bones: Your images winking, your bleeding impostures, Twenty “Ave Marias” for two “Pater-Nosters.” The second commandment you cunningly hide, Idolatrous worship, for Christians, provide, Where Mysteries Pagan and Jewish combine --- A mockery Satanic of worship Divine. Farewell to the Mass, ‘tis a blasphemous cheat: What! Worship a wafer the vermin may eat? It grew in the field, it was thrashed with a flail, ‘Twas winnowed and fanned, and ground into meal; ‘Twas clipped with the scissors -- the mice ate the waste. ‘Twas stamped with a figure -- a cross and a man --- ‘Twas put on a fire and baked in a pan --- “Masterpiece of Satan,” chief work of hell, To gods made of wafers for ever farewell. An offering of fools in a jargon unknown; Your antics and turnings, your bowings and scraping, Your postures and twistings, grimacing and aping; By your rubbish the Word of the Lord you disguise, And cheat all the world by your “refuge of lies.” Farewell to your cursing, your bludgeons and sticks, The “Mother of Harlots,” and Jezebel’s tricks. Go, stand on the necks of your minions and tools; Go, blow out your candles on asses and fools. I pity the slave who allows your control --- Who feels all the weight of your chains on his soul; By the power of the Truth I have broken the spell, So, Priest of the Parish, I bid you FAREWELL. taken from The Scarlet Mother on the Tiber, by L. J. King.