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

I met a preacher there I knew, and said, Ill and overworked, how fare you in this scene? Bravely! said he; for I of late have been Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the living bread.

I preached as never sure to preach again, And as a dying man to dying men.

Do as we say, and not as we do.

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!

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'!

And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, Was beat with fist instead of a stick.

Take time enough: all other graces Will soon fill up their proper places.

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!

But Cristes loore, and his Apostles twelve He taughte, but first he folowed it hymselfe.

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

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.

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.

He that negotiates between God and man, As God's ambassador, the grand concerns Of judgment and of mercy, should beware Of lightness in his speech.

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!

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 a scythe When tithing time draws near.

Go forth and preach impostures to the world, But give them truth to build on.

God preaches, a noted clergyman, And the sermon is never long; So instead of getting to heaven at last, I'm going all along.

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; For this by rules severe his life he squar'd: That all might see the doctrines which they heard.