Even ministers of good things are like torches, a light to
others, waste and destruction to themselves.

Even ministers of good things are like torches, a light to
others, waste and destruction to themselves.

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!

There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark!
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.

There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark!
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.

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.

Alas for the unhappy man that is called to stand in the pulpit,
and not give the bread of read more

Alas for the unhappy man that is called to stand in the pulpit,
and not give the bread of life.

Of right and wrong he taught
Truths as refined as ever Athens heard;
And (strange to tell) read more

Of right and wrong he taught
Truths as refined as ever Athens heard;
And (strange to tell) he practis'd what he preach'd.

Would I describe a preacher,
. . . .
I would express him simple, grave, sincere;
read more

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.

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.