He thought that with a stroke of pen, He’d stop us from our love, Of beautiful tradition, Sent down from up above. The ancient rites so beautiful, That God Himself was pleased. He tried to cancel all we loved, But God was not appeased. The Ancient Rites were holy, Not like what is new. They called for grace from God on high, Who poured out heaven’s dew. We pray at morning, noon and night, For God to grant us peace. Our prayers we must continue, They must never, ever cease. We pray for God to pardon, Those who hate the ancient rites, In agony and sorrow, and, In many sleepless nights. We send our prayers and tears aloft, Above the clouded sky. We say the ancient prayers we know, With faith that God is nigh. They crucify the Bride of Christ, Those who tradition hate. So we must send our tears and prayers, While painfully we wait. Then someday, we know not when, The Bride will glorious rise. We’ll thank our God with tears of joy, Because He heard our cries.
(This is a poem written by David Hermes, who writes under the registered pen name of Sgt Pops. He is a disabled veteran who follows in the Traditional path of Holy Mother Church.)