Classic Poem

O Thou , th' eternal Father's Word!
What though on earth Thy voice is heard
No longer, as of yore;
Still, age by age, dost Thou supply,
With holy teachers from on high,
Thy Church for evermore.

They, in Thy stead, the truth maintain,
And guard the Christian Faith from stain,
Against its deadly foes;
Which, under such protecting care,
For ever fresh, for ever fair,
In virgin beauty glows.

Remnants of superstition old,—
Falsehood and error,—from the fold
'Tis theirs to drive away;
Theirs to recover to the Lord,
The souls, whom heresy and fraud
Have made a wretched prey.

They, to the long hoar-headed line
Of Fathers, pointing,—as they shine
Far in the ages deep,—
Preserve the ancient doctrines pure;
Confute the novel; and secure
The great deposit keep.

All praise to Thee, who by the pen
Of saintly doctors, teaching men
Thy truths, O Truth sublime!
Without a voice, without a sound,
Thy grace diffusest all around,
Thy glory through all time.