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 82. Sacrilege  THE Church shone brightly in her youthful days  Ere the world on her smiled; So now, an outcast, she would pour her rays  Keen, free, and undefiled: Yet would I not that arm of force were mine, Which thrusts her from her awful ancient shrine.  'Twas duty bound each convert-king to rear  His Mother from the dust, And pious was it to enrich, nor fear  Christ for the rest to trust; And who shall dare make common or unclean What once has on the Holy Altar been?  Dear brothers! hence, while ye for ill prepare,  Triumph is still your own; Blest is a pilgrim Church! yet shrink to share  The curse of throwing down. So will we toil in our old place to stand, Watching, not dreading, the despoiler's hand.  Palermo .  June 4, 1833.