The Hippopotamus

  
	The broad-backed hippopotamus
	Rests on his belly in the mud;
	Although he seems so firm to us
	He is merely flesh and blood.

	   Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
	Susceptible to nervous shock;
	While the True Church can never fail
	For it is based upon a rock.

	   The hippo's feeble steps may err
	In compassing material ends,
	While the True Church need never stir
	To gather in its dividends.

	   The 'potamus can never reach
	The mango on the mango-tree;
	But fruits of pomegranate and peach
	Refresh the Church from over sea.

	   At mating time the hippo's voice
	Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
	But every week we hear rejoice
	The Church, at being one with God.

	   The hippopotamus's day
	Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
	God works in a mysterious way-
	The Church can sleep and feed at once.

	   I saw the 'potamus take wing
	Ascending from the damp savannas,
	And quiring angels round him sing
	The praise of God, in loud hossanas.

	   Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
	And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
	Among the saints he shall be seen
	Performing on a harp of gold.

	   He shall be washed as white as snow,
	By all the martyr'd virgins kist,
	While the True Church remains below
	Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.