A pretty maid, a Protestant, was to a Catholic
wed;
To love all Bible truths and tales, quite
early she’d been bred.
It sorely grieved her husband’s heart that
she would not comply,
And join the Mother Church of Rome and heretics
deny.
So day by day he flattered her, but still she
saw no good,
Would ever come from bowing down to idols
made of wood.
The Mass, the Host, the miracles were made
but to deceive;
And transubstantiation, too, she’d never dare
believe.
He went to see his clergyman and told him his
sad tale.
“My wife is an unbeliever, sir; you can perhaps
prevail;
For all your Romish miracles my wife has strong
aversion,
To really work a miracle may lead to her conversion.”
The priest went with the gentleman~~he thought
to gain a prize.
He said, “I will convert her, sir, and open
both her eyes.”
So when they came into the house, the husband
loudly cried,
“The priest has come to dine with us!”
“He’s welcome,” she replied.
And when, at last, the meal was o’er, the priest
at once began,
To teach his hostess all about the sinful
state of man;
The greatness of our Savior’s love, which
Christians can’t deny,
To give Himself a sacrifice and for our sins
to die.
“I will return tomorrow, lass, prepare some
bread and wine;
The sacramental miracle will stop your soul’s
decline.”
“I’ll bake the bread,” the lady said. “You
may,” he did reply,
“And when you’ve seen this miracle, convinced
you’ll be, say I.”
The priest did come accordingly, the bread
and wine did bless.
The lady asked, “Sir, is it changed?”
The priest answered,
“Yes, It’s changed from common bread and wine
to truly flesh and blood;
Begorra, lass, this power of mine has changed
it into God!”
So having blessed the bread and wine, to eat
they did prepare.
The lady said unto the priest, “I warn you
to take care,
For half an ounce of arsenic was mixed right
in the batter,
But since you have its nature changed, it
cannot really matter.”
The priest was struck real dumb~~he looked
as pale as death.
The bread and wine fell from his hands and
he did gasp for breath.
“Bring me my horse!” the priest cried, “This
is a cursed home!”
The lady replied, “Begone; tis you who shares
the curse of Rome.”
The husband, too, he sat surprised, and not
a word did say.
At length he spoke, “My dear,” said he, “the
priest has run away;
To gulp such mummery and tripe, I’m not for
sure, quite able;
I’ll go with you and we’ll renounce this Roman
Catholic fable.”
~ ~ ~ ~