Psalming Songsters Poem by james watkin

Devout, in their supplications;
And too blithely immoderate!
But for all these sound-inflexions
Psalming songster's, first light's
Would but know, as much plain birds rate
In sun, night's wrongs who rights.

But tis he, re-crowned! From each pew
East-faced, for what smooth-boughed is
And with not one looking askew
In folds, garbed, gold and flowing
In their god-king! Wields atop this
Woe-hid fog, faith's endowing.