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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I preached as never sure to preach again,
And as a dying man to dying men.
I preached as never sure to preach again,
And as a dying man to dying men.
I venerate the man whose heart is warm,
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life,
read more
I venerate the man whose heart is warm,
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life,
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof
That he is honest in the sacred cause.
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!
Do as we say, and not as we do.
[Lat., Faites ce que nous disons, et ne faites pas read more
Do as we say, and not as we do.
[Lat., Faites ce que nous disons, et ne faites pas ce que nous
faisons.]
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 proud he tam'd, the penitent he cheer'd:
Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd.
His preaching read more
The proud he tam'd, the penitent he cheer'd:
Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd.
His preaching much, but more his practice wrought;
(A living sermon of the truths he taught:)
For this by rules severe his life he squar'd:
That all might see the doctrines which they heard.
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.
A kick that scarce would move a horse,
May kill a sound divine.
A kick that scarce would move a horse,
May kill a sound divine.
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.
