Would I describe a preacher,
. . . .
I would express him simple, grave, sincere;
In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain,
And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste,
And natural in gesture; much impress'd
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge,
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds
May feel it too; affectionate in look,
And tender in address, as well becomes
A messenger of grace to guilty men.
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But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all.
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all.
Take time enough: all other graces
Will soon fill up their proper places.
Take time enough: all other graces
Will soon fill up their proper places.
But Cristes loore, and his Apostles twelve
He taughte, but first he folowed it hymselfe.
But Cristes loore, and his Apostles twelve
He taughte, but first he folowed it hymselfe.
They shall knaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam
whar the lion roareth and the Wang read more
They shall knaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam
whar the lion roareth and the Wang Doodle mourneth for its first
born--ah!
Hear how he clears the points o' Faith
Wi' rattling an' thumpin'!
Now meekly calm, now wild read more
Hear how he clears the points o' Faith
Wi' rattling an' thumpin'!
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,
He's stampin', and he's jumpin'!
For the preacher's merit or demerit,
It were to be wished that the flaws were fewer
In read more
For the preacher's merit or demerit,
It were to be wished that the flaws were fewer
In the earthen vessel, holding treasure,
But the main thing is, does it hold good measure
Heaven soon sets right all other matters!
The things that mount the rostrum with a skip,
And then skip down again, pronounce a text,
read more
The things that mount the rostrum with a skip,
And then skip down again, pronounce a text,
Cry hem; and reading what they never wrote
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work,
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene!
Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant
Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn
Loud as the read more
Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant
Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn
Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,
Not practise!
The priest he merry is, and blithe
Three-quarters of a year,
But oh! it cuts him like read more
The priest he merry is, and blithe
Three-quarters of a year,
But oh! it cuts him like a scythe
When tithing time draws near.
