And, like an infernal trumpet sound,
Rang through the church's hush profound
A voice. We listened horror-bound.
"Venio! Cease, cease to consecrate!
Love built the church, but it is mine!
'Tis built of stone hewn out by hate,
Cemented by man's blood divine.
Whence came the gold that paid for this?
From pillage of the poor, I wis—
That gold was mine, and mine this is!