The Southron's New Jerusalem

​The Yankee Pharisee
Proclaims it his duty, 
Divinely given, to build
New Jerusalem
Upon the earth
By fire and sword
And any other kind of force.

The Southerner,
Truer son of English
And the Celts, senses
Something there amiss.

Deep within his soul
There lies a primordial
Memory, of deathless
Avalon, the Isle
Of Paradise,
England’s Jerusalem
Of Glastonbury.

The Righteous Joseph
Of Arimathea
Drove out the druids
From her hills; there he
Honored the Mother of God
With a church and an icon
That many wonders worked.
There his dry staff blossomed
Into a living thorn tree.

There, on top of the Tor,
Men besought Archangel
Michael.  There, all about,
Were cells of monks and nuns.
There, saints were buried.
From there, St Dunstan
Arose to revive the Faith.

The Southron understands
That New Jerusalem
Was built long ago
By his kinsmen across the sea.
What remains for him
To do is bring the spirit
Of that place to Southern shores,
And bid it grow, and not
The slightest half-breath more.