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Festival of the Jolly Clergymen.
They met on Saturday, its night—
A jolly club of prosperous preachers—
Who knew that merriment was right,
In all its non-abhorrent features;
Who did not think one's meed of grace
Depended on his length of face;
Who laughed and wept with swinging rhymes,
And talked of merry, rough old times;
And roasted many a queer lay-brother,
And cracked sly jokelets on each other;
In short, did everything inside
A proper ministerial pride,
To get them into fluent vein,
And rest them for the Sunday strain.
A jolly club of prosperous preachers—
Who knew that merriment was right,
In all its non-abhorrent features;
Who did not think one's meed of grace
Depended on his length of face;
Who laughed and wept with swinging rhymes,
And talked of merry, rough old times;
And roasted many a queer lay-brother,
And cracked sly jokelets on each other;
In short, did everything inside
A proper ministerial pride,
To get them into fluent vein,
And rest them for the Sunday strain.
One night, half silently, these men
The past and present were comparing;
Mused how much better now than then,
The couriers of the Lord were faring;
How large the salary and the fee,
Compared to what they used to be;
How far their present clothes surpassed
The ones they long aside had cast;
How much more freely bread-and-meat
Exposed itself for them to eat;
How rich to-day their church-bells' chimes,
Compared to those of olden times;
This, with no vanity of head,
But thankfulness of heart instead.
The past and present were comparing;
Mused how much better now than then,
The couriers of the Lord were faring;
How large the salary and the fee,
Compared to what they used to be;
How far their present clothes surpassed
The ones they long aside had cast;
How much more freely bread-and-meat
Exposed itself for them to eat;
How rich to-day their church-bells' chimes,
Compared to those of olden times;
This, with no vanity of head,
But thankfulness of heart instead.
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And oft they thought of precious hours:
The calms they'd fought, the tempests weathered;
While in their hearts they'd pressed the flowers
In country wastes and gardens gathered;
And some who had not known the joy
Of being in humble folks' employ,
And had not had the discipline
Of those who destitute had been,
Themselves were happy to avail
Of many a heart-instructive tale,
With listening ears and honest eyes,
And power to deeply sympathize;
In short, this Club's doors did not pass
A single ministerial ass.
The calms they'd fought, the tempests weathered;
While in their hearts they'd pressed the flowers
In country wastes and gardens gathered;
And some who had not known the joy
Of being in humble folks' employ,
And had not had the discipline
Of those who destitute had been,
Themselves were happy to avail
Of many a heart-instructive tale,
With listening ears and honest eyes,
And power to deeply sympathize;
In short, this Club's doors did not pass
A single ministerial ass.
And oft they thought of those who now
Within unstreeted fields were striving,
With yearning heart and aching brow,
And pay that scarce involved surviving;
Of those who press the bloody sands
And jungled fields of heathen lands;
Of those whose work is worldly-drear,
Upon the thorny-ground frontier;
Of those whom age and helplessness
Have thrown in idle-houred distress;
Of those who toil in places low
As some where Christ was wont to go;
Ere ceased this subject to prevail,
A brother told the following tale:
Within unstreeted fields were striving,
With yearning heart and aching brow,
And pay that scarce involved surviving;
Of those who press the bloody sands
And jungled fields of heathen lands;
Of those whose work is worldly-drear,
Upon the thorny-ground frontier;
Of those whom age and helplessness
Have thrown in idle-houred distress;
Of those who toil in places low
As some where Christ was wont to go;
Ere ceased this subject to prevail,
A brother told the following tale:
ELDER LAMB'S DONATION.
Good old Elder Lamb had labored for a thousand nights and days,
And had preached the blessèd Gospel in a multitude of ways;
Had received a message daily over Faith's celestial wire,
And had kept his little chapel full of flames of heavenly fire;
He had raised a numerous family, straight and sturdy as he could,
And his boys were all considered most unnaturally good;
And his slender salary kept him, till went forth the proclamation,
“Let us pay him up, this season, with a generous, large donation.”
And had preached the blessèd Gospel in a multitude of ways;
Had received a message daily over Faith's celestial wire,
And had kept his little chapel full of flames of heavenly fire;
He had raised a numerous family, straight and sturdy as he could,
And his boys were all considered most unnaturally good;
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“Let us pay him up, this season, with a generous, large donation.”
So they brought him hay, and barley, and some corn upon the ear,
Also straw enough to bed a livery-stable for a year;
And they strewed him with potatoes of inconsequential size,
And some onions, whose completeness drew the moisture to his eyes;
And some cider—more like water, in an inventory strict—
And some apples, pears, and peaches, that the autumn gales had picked;
And some strings of dried-up apples—mummies of the fruit creation—
Went to swell the doleful chorus of old Elder Lamb's donation.
Also straw enough to bed a livery-stable for a year;
And they strewed him with potatoes of inconsequential size,
And some onions, whose completeness drew the moisture to his eyes;
And some cider—more like water, in an inventory strict—
And some apples, pears, and peaches, that the autumn gales had picked;
And some strings of dried-up apples—mummies of the fruit creation—
Went to swell the doleful chorus of old Elder Lamb's donation.
Also radishes and turnips pressed the pumpkin's cheerful cheek;
Likewise, beans enough to furnish half of Boston for a week;
And some eggs, whose inner nature bore the legend, “Long ago,”
And some butter that was worthy to have Samson for a foe;
And some stove-wood, green and crookèd, on his flower-beds was laid,
Fit to furnish fire departments with the most substantial aid.
All things unappreciated found this night their true vocation,
In that great museum of relics, known as Elder Lamb's donation.
Likewise, beans enough to furnish half of Boston for a week;
And some eggs, whose inner nature bore the legend, “Long ago,”
And some butter that was worthy to have Samson for a foe;
And some stove-wood, green and crookèd, on his flower-beds was laid,
Fit to furnish fire departments with the most substantial aid.
All things unappreciated found this night their true vocation,
In that great museum of relics, known as Elder Lamb's donation.
There were biscuits whose material was their own secure defence;
There were sauces whose acuteness bore the sad pluperfect tense;
There were jellies quaintly flavored, there were mystery-laden pies;
There was bread that long had waited for the signal to arise;
There were cookies, tasting clearly of the dim and misty past;
There were doughnuts that in justice 'mongst the metals might be classed;
There were chickens, geese, and turkeys, that had long been on probation,
Now received in full connection, at old Elder Lamb's donation!
There were sauces whose acuteness bore the sad pluperfect tense;
There were jellies quaintly flavored, there were mystery-laden pies;
There was bread that long had waited for the signal to arise;
There were cookies, tasting clearly of the dim and misty past;
There were doughnuts that in justice 'mongst the metals might be classed;
There were chickens, geese, and turkeys, that had long been on probation,
Now received in full connection, at old Elder Lamb's donation!
Then they brought his wife a wrapper, made for some one not so tall.
And they gave him twenty slippers, every one of which was small;
And they covered him with sackcloth, as it were, in various bits,
And they clothed his helpless children in a wardrobe of misfits.
And they trimmed his house with “Welcome!” and some bric-à-bracish trash—
And one absent-minded brother brought five dollars, all in cash!
Which the good old pastor handled with a thrill of exultation,
Wishing that in filthy lucre might have come his whole donation!
And they gave him twenty slippers, every one of which was small;
And they covered him with sackcloth, as it were, in various bits,
And they clothed his helpless children in a wardrobe of misfits.
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And one absent-minded brother brought five dollars, all in cash!
Which the good old pastor handled with a thrill of exultation,
Wishing that in filthy lucre might have come his whole donation!
Morning broke at last in splendor; but the Elder, bowed in gloom,
Knelt amid decaying produce and the ruins of his home.
But his piety had never till that morning shone so bright,
For he prayed for those who'd brought him to that unexpected plight;
But some worldly thoughts intruded: for he wondered, o'er and o'er,
If they'd buy that day at auction what they gave the night before.
And his fervent prayer concluded with the natural exclamation,
“Take me to Thyself in grace, O Lord, before my next donation!”
Knelt amid decaying produce and the ruins of his home.
But his piety had never till that morning shone so bright,
For he prayed for those who'd brought him to that unexpected plight;
But some worldly thoughts intruded: for he wondered, o'er and o'er,
If they'd buy that day at auction what they gave the night before.
And his fervent prayer concluded with the natural exclamation,
“Take me to Thyself in grace, O Lord, before my next donation!”
And once, the conversation's scope
Took in those pastors who, desiring
To do more than they ought to hope,
Were less effective than aspiring;
Whose plans so loomed and roared and glared,
With their ability compared,
As to remain in dust and doubt,
Unable to be carried out.—
Illustrating, with much thought-gain,
Religious matters with profane,
And seeing the fact, through great and small,
That all things may resemble all,
A clergyman, sedate and old,
The following short, true story told:
Took in those pastors who, desiring
To do more than they ought to hope,
Were less effective than aspiring;
Whose plans so loomed and roared and glared,
With their ability compared,
As to remain in dust and doubt,
Unable to be carried out.—
Illustrating, with much thought-gain,
Religious matters with profane,
And seeing the fact, through great and small,
That all things may resemble all,
A clergyman, sedate and old,
The following short, true story told:
McFLUFFEY'S CANOE.
My boatman laughed loud at a man on the shore,
With habiliments proud and assurance galore,
And a manner that sought the idea to convey,
That he maybe had bought the whole river that day:
Said my shrewd Irish lad, as a droll glance he threw,
“He remoinds me, bedad, of McFluffey's canoe.
With habiliments proud and assurance galore,
And a manner that sought the idea to convey,
That he maybe had bought the whole river that day:
Said my shrewd Irish lad, as a droll glance he threw,
“He remoinds me, bedad, of McFluffey's canoe.
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“Oh, McFluffey was ‘there’ in compethitive sail:
He could show his back hair in the calm or the gale;
He was absent upon any shpot but firrst place,
Till he enthered the John J. O'Flanigan race:
Which it tore him all down, an' then shwept him up, too,
Wid some frinds, who now frown on McFluffey's canoe.
He could show his back hair in the calm or the gale;
He was absent upon any shpot but firrst place,
Till he enthered the John J. O'Flanigan race:
Which it tore him all down, an' then shwept him up, too,
Wid some frinds, who now frown on McFluffey's canoe.
“For he'd said, ‘Oi'll hew out a new craft, loike as not,
That 'll prance all about every craft yez have got;
An' her patthern Oi'll kape to mesilf—good or bad—
For the crayture Oi'll shape in me cellar, bedad;
Oi'll be makher, desoigner, an' captain an' crew—
There'll not be a foiner 'n McFluffey's canoe.’
That 'll prance all about every craft yez have got;
An' her patthern Oi'll kape to mesilf—good or bad—
For the crayture Oi'll shape in me cellar, bedad;
Oi'll be makher, desoigner, an' captain an' crew—
There'll not be a foiner 'n McFluffey's canoe.’
“So this promisin' craft in his cellar he shaped,
An' he chuckled and laughed, an' he pounded and schraped;
An' his dhry dock was wet wid the shmell of ould gin,
But we never could get us a pull to go in.
An' he says, ‘Cork yer eyes till the proper toime, you,
An' ye'll have a surprise wid McFluffey's canoe!’
An' he chuckled and laughed, an' he pounded and schraped;
An' his dhry dock was wet wid the shmell of ould gin,
But we never could get us a pull to go in.
An' he says, ‘Cork yer eyes till the proper toime, you,
An' ye'll have a surprise wid McFluffey's canoe!’
“An' the race-day did lind a fair breeze an' broight sun,
An' we backed our ould frind about twinty to one;
An' we pitied the fate of the others afloat,
An' shouted, ‘Just wait for McFluffey's new boat!’
An' he says, ‘She's as staunch as me frinds are, an' true;
So shtep down an' hilp launch ould McFluffey's canoe!’
An' we backed our ould frind about twinty to one;
An' we pitied the fate of the others afloat,
An' shouted, ‘Just wait for McFluffey's new boat!’
An' he says, ‘She's as staunch as me frinds are, an' true;
So shtep down an' hilp launch ould McFluffey's canoe!’
“An' we shouted, ‘All right!’ an' went down wid glad grin,
An' we pushed our sails tight wid a pull at the gin;
An' the boat shtood there fresh, all as shwate as could be;
Oh, a first-class professional beauty was she!
An' his shwateheart had sewed a green flag, trimmed wid blue
An' her name had bestowed on McFluffey's canoe!
An' we pushed our sails tight wid a pull at the gin;
An' the boat shtood there fresh, all as shwate as could be;
Oh, a first-class professional beauty was she!
An' his shwateheart had sewed a green flag, trimmed wid blue
An' her name had bestowed on McFluffey's canoe!
“An' we lifted her clane on our shoulders, in pairs—
The boat, sure, I mane—and descended up-stairs;
But the boat was too great, sure—the door was too shmall—
We couldn't get the crayture evicted, at all!
Not a door could be shlammed that the chraft would sail through,
An' we shtood there becalmed with McFluffey's canoe!
The boat, sure, I mane—and descended up-stairs;
But the boat was too great, sure—the door was too shmall—
We couldn't get the crayture evicted, at all!
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An' we shtood there becalmed with McFluffey's canoe!
“‘Saw the floor! smash the wall! blow the roof off!’ he cried:
But nothing at all would admit her outside;
An' Mac swelled up in girth, an' blasphamed himsilf sick,
An' then prayed for an earthquake to come, an' be quick!
Shtone an' brick would not moind it, whate'er we moight do;
An' the race lift behoind it McFluffey's canoe!
But nothing at all would admit her outside;
An' Mac swelled up in girth, an' blasphamed himsilf sick,
An' then prayed for an earthquake to come, an' be quick!
Shtone an' brick would not moind it, whate'er we moight do;
An' the race lift behoind it McFluffey's canoe!
“An' his shwateheart the shock drove wid rage most insane,
An' she shtamped through the dock, when he thried to explain;
An' she said, ‘Look-a-there!’ wid the rage in her face,
‘The Bridget O'Flaherty's winnin' my race!
You decaivin' ould elf!’ an' her words fairly flew;
‘Now be off wid yerself, an' yer dirthy canoe!’
An' she shtamped through the dock, when he thried to explain;
An' she said, ‘Look-a-there!’ wid the rage in her face,
‘The Bridget O'Flaherty's winnin' my race!
You decaivin' ould elf!’ an' her words fairly flew;
‘Now be off wid yerself, an' yer dirthy canoe!’
“Now whin a man brings me a high-moighty sound
Concernin' some things he is goin' to bring round,
An' thanks his good stars he is winnin' the day,
Forgettin' the bars that men find in their way,
I says, wid sly laughter, ‘Yer pride yez may rue:
Yer a-modellin' afther McFluffey's canoe!’
Concernin' some things he is goin' to bring round,
An' thanks his good stars he is winnin' the day,
Forgettin' the bars that men find in their way,
I says, wid sly laughter, ‘Yer pride yez may rue:
Yer a-modellin' afther McFluffey's canoe!’
“An' when a man linds all his plans to himself,
An' lays all his frinds for a while on the shelf,
An' thinks he knows twice what there is to be known,
An' the outside advice will be lettin' alone,
I says, ‘If yer pride to a point yez don't hew,
Ye'll be takin' a ride in McFluffey's canoe!’”
An' lays all his frinds for a while on the shelf,
An' thinks he knows twice what there is to be known,
An' the outside advice will be lettin' alone,
I says, ‘If yer pride to a point yez don't hew,
Ye'll be takin' a ride in McFluffey's canoe!’”
And soon the Club were blithe of tongue,
With marital congratulation,
For one of them, who'd lately sprung
Into a bridegroom's happy station;
And various nuggets of advice
Were coined in precepts smooth and nice;
And now and then a warning word
From sages celibate was heard;
And several instances were cited
Where those who had been so united,
Had lived together very well
(As if 'twere something strange to tell);
And one good brother amplified
This story of a pastor's bride:
With marital congratulation,
For one of them, who'd lately sprung
Into a bridegroom's happy station;
And various nuggets of advice
Were coined in precepts smooth and nice;
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From sages celibate was heard;
And several instances were cited
Where those who had been so united,
Had lived together very well
(As if 'twere something strange to tell);
And one good brother amplified
This story of a pastor's bride:
ELDER PETTIGREW'S HELPMEET.
Elder Pettigrew was married on the fifteenth of July,
And some sixteen jealous maidens let their disappointment fly;
And some seventeen other maidens scorned to give their sorrow air,
And some eighteen other maidens laughed, and said they didn't care;
And some nineteen other maidens felt the fact come rather near,
For the Elder's face was handsome, and his heart was full of cheer.
And some sixteen jealous maidens let their disappointment fly;
And some seventeen other maidens scorned to give their sorrow air,
And some eighteen other maidens laughed, and said they didn't care;
And some nineteen other maidens felt the fact come rather near,
For the Elder's face was handsome, and his heart was full of cheer.
And his older friends were sorry he had done as he had done,
For the bride was young and little, and retiring as a nun;
To be sure, her face was comely; still, she wasn't much to see,
And they had their own opinion what a pastor's bride should be.
And they said, “Lone-handed pastors ought to search, and search, and search,
Till they get a proper partner that can help them run the church.”
For the bride was young and little, and retiring as a nun;
To be sure, her face was comely; still, she wasn't much to see,
And they had their own opinion what a pastor's bride should be.
And they said, “Lone-handed pastors ought to search, and search, and search,
Till they get a proper partner that can help them run the church.”
And she closed her eyes devoutly, or looked down upon the floor,
When the fateful fact was mentioned that her maiden days were o'er;
And her voice was just a flutter, and her answering timid-low;
Even her would-be rivals pitied, that she had to tremble so;
But when once the fact was stated that she was the pastor's wife,
She glanced round upon the people, with a newish lease of life.
When the fateful fact was mentioned that her maiden days were o'er;
And her voice was just a flutter, and her answering timid-low;
Even her would-be rivals pitied, that she had to tremble so;
But when once the fact was stated that she was the pastor's wife,
She glanced round upon the people, with a newish lease of life.
And the next day in the morning, from her new-found social perch
She began to help the preacher to reorganize the church;
For she called upon the sisters, with a look of brooding care,
And reformed the sewing-circle into quite a new affair;
And she called upon the Deacons, with a smile that never ceased,
And requested that the salary of her husband be increased;
She began to help the preacher to reorganize the church;
For she called upon the sisters, with a look of brooding care,
And reformed the sewing-circle into quite a new affair;
And she called upon the Deacons, with a smile that never ceased,
And requested that the salary of her husband be increased;
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And she never missed an effort, till she laid the old choir waste,
And discharged the ones whose voices did not satisfy her taste;
And she straightway formed a new one, full of singers of her choice,
And became herself the leader, more by gesture than by voice;
And permitted no flirtations at such times when she was nigh,
For she held them all in bondage by the glimmer of her eye;
And discharged the ones whose voices did not satisfy her taste;
And she straightway formed a new one, full of singers of her choice,
And became herself the leader, more by gesture than by voice;
And permitted no flirtations at such times when she was nigh,
For she held them all in bondage by the glimmer of her eye;
And the Sunday-school and missions glided under her control,
And she made investigation of the state of every soul;
And the charities were also reconstructed by her hand,
No withholding ever prospering, that evaded her command;
And the rich were asked assistance for the causes of her choosing,
In a manner that they somehow had no method of refusing;
And she made investigation of the state of every soul;
And the charities were also reconstructed by her hand,
No withholding ever prospering, that evaded her command;
And the rich were asked assistance for the causes of her choosing,
In a manner that they somehow had no method of refusing;
And the sermons got to sounding (or, by Fancy's logic bid,
Several of the congregation thought they knew they thought they did),
Quite as if they were constructed on a new and fem'nine plan,
And a stern appeal for Woman, as against the tyrant Man.
And the folks looked at each other, with their faces new-forlorn,
Whispering low, “She writes his sermons, just as sure as you are born!”
Several of the congregation thought they knew they thought they did),
Quite as if they were constructed on a new and fem'nine plan,
And a stern appeal for Woman, as against the tyrant Man.
And the folks looked at each other, with their faces new-forlorn,
Whispering low, “She writes his sermons, just as sure as you are born!”
And one day her husband's larynx was not wholly in repair,
And she coolly took the pulpit, with a firmly modest air;
And proceeding with a sermon, with determined look, though sad,
She discoursed a great deal better than her husband ever had.
Then the people looked and wondered, and inquired, “What shall we do?
For the one that gets no salary, is the smarter of the two!”
And she coolly took the pulpit, with a firmly modest air;
And proceeding with a sermon, with determined look, though sad,
She discoursed a great deal better than her husband ever had.
Then the people looked and wondered, and inquired, “What shall we do?
For the one that gets no salary, is the smarter of the two!”
Till at last, one day, the places that had known her ceased to know,
And the parsonage was darkened, and the people whispered low.
There had come a wailing couple from The Land where All Begins,
And their naming was elaborate, but the people called them “Twins;”
And the lady abdicated from her sacerdotal throne,
And suggested to her husband that he run the church alone.
And the parsonage was darkened, and the people whispered low.
There had come a wailing couple from The Land where All Begins,
And their naming was elaborate, but the people called them “Twins;”
And the lady abdicated from her sacerdotal throne,
And suggested to her husband that he run the church alone.
And amid the smiles and sorrows of the following twenty years,
Came some fifteen other children to the land of smiles and tears;
And the manse's mistress gave up all her managerial goals,
And devoted strict attention to her children's precious souls;
And remarked to wondering neighbors, not to be misunderstood,
“She who starts her children heavenward, works as God desires she should.”
Came some fifteen other children to the land of smiles and tears;
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And devoted strict attention to her children's precious souls;
And remarked to wondering neighbors, not to be misunderstood,
“She who starts her children heavenward, works as God desires she should.”
And her sons proved mostly preachers, shedding goodness all their lives,
And her daughters “joined the movement” by becoming preachers' wives;
And though not the brightest day-star that his Conference ever knew,
Never-ceasing good resulted, thus, from Elder Pettigrew;
And the modest little woman (leastways, everybody said it)
Was entitled to some ninety-nine one-hundredths of the credit.
And her daughters “joined the movement” by becoming preachers' wives;
And though not the brightest day-star that his Conference ever knew,
Never-ceasing good resulted, thus, from Elder Pettigrew;
And the modest little woman (leastways, everybody said it)
Was entitled to some ninety-nine one-hundredths of the credit.
They closed at midnight with a song
From Rev. Thomas Thompson Thomas,
Whose voice was sweet, as well as strong,
With well developed mines of promise;
Whose tones could make the rafters ring,
And coax the walls themselves to sing;
Elicit sympathetic tears,
Or fill the room with laughs and cheers;
Whose manner had magnetic thrills
That fashioned nerves unto their wills;
Whose heart, while touring with his voice,
Made others suffer or rejoice;
So, while the clock for midnight rang,
The singing preacher sweetly sang:
From Rev. Thomas Thompson Thomas,
Whose voice was sweet, as well as strong,
With well developed mines of promise;
Whose tones could make the rafters ring,
And coax the walls themselves to sing;
Elicit sympathetic tears,
Or fill the room with laughs and cheers;
Whose manner had magnetic thrills
That fashioned nerves unto their wills;
Whose heart, while touring with his voice,
Made others suffer or rejoice;
So, while the clock for midnight rang,
The singing preacher sweetly sang:
HYMN-SERMON.
Text: “Safely through another week.”
Seven days' dangers passed us by:
Perils strewn from earth to sky;
Clouds within whose chambers deep
Fire and flood together sleep;
Air in ambush, which, set free,
Might a cyclone-panther be;
Earthquakes in the realms below,
Prowling fiercely to and fro;
Sickness that, with stealthy tread,
Brought the grave its hapless dead;
So the words in song we speak:
“Safely through another week.”
Perils strewn from earth to sky;
Clouds within whose chambers deep
Fire and flood together sleep;
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Might a cyclone-panther be;
Earthquakes in the realms below,
Prowling fiercely to and fro;
Sickness that, with stealthy tread,
Brought the grave its hapless dead;
So the words in song we speak:
“Safely through another week.”
Who could sail without the waves?
Who could breathe without the air?
Men were only walking graves—
But that God is everywhere.
Stars that travel, fast or slow,
Through the countries of the sky,
On His errands come and go—
With His viewless wings they fly.
Each true spirit is a star
Fed by one Eternal Ray;
So the words we sing afar:
“God has brought us on our way.”
Who could breathe without the air?
Men were only walking graves—
But that God is everywhere.
Stars that travel, fast or slow,
Through the countries of the sky,
On His errands come and go—
With His viewless wings they fly.
Each true spirit is a star
Fed by one Eternal Ray;
So the words we sing afar:
“God has brought us on our way.”
Lo the diamond—metal sun!
And by toil and pain 'twas won.
Learning comes the world to bless—
It was purchased with distress.
See a fame in glory rise!
It was bought with sacrifice.
Feel a love that passeth thought!
But it did not come unbought.
With exertion and desire,
Souls must clamber and aspire;
So we sing, in accents meek:
“Let us all a blessing seek.”
And by toil and pain 'twas won.
Learning comes the world to bless—
It was purchased with distress.
See a fame in glory rise!
It was bought with sacrifice.
Feel a love that passeth thought!
But it did not come unbought.
With exertion and desire,
Souls must clamber and aspire;
So we sing, in accents meek:
“Let us all a blessing seek.”
Did you view the morning rise?
To the eye a wondrous feast!
Precious stones bestrewed the skies—
Heaven's own gate hung in the east.
Can you see the mountains grand?
Do you hear the robin sing?
Worship, O my soul! you stand
In a palace of the King!
Splendor lurks in every spot
Of this Sabbath morn's display:
Fellow-singers, are we not
“Waiting in His courts to-day?”
To the eye a wondrous feast!
Precious stones bestrewed the skies—
Heaven's own gate hung in the east.
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Do you hear the robin sing?
Worship, O my soul! you stand
In a palace of the King!
Splendor lurks in every spot
Of this Sabbath morn's display:
Fellow-singers, are we not
“Waiting in His courts to-day?”
You whose life-webs weigh like lead,
Weave to-day a golden thread;
You who bend 'neath labor's rod,
Bow this day to none but God;
You who toil for Learning's goal,
Read to-day your child's sweet soul;
You whose heart is doomed to bear
Sorrow, shame, and needless care,
Come, to-day, and lay them prone
On the white steps of the Throne.
Properly is this confessed:
“Day of all the week the best.”
Weave to-day a golden thread;
You who bend 'neath labor's rod,
Bow this day to none but God;
You who toil for Learning's goal,
Read to-day your child's sweet soul;
You whose heart is doomed to bear
Sorrow, shame, and needless care,
Come, to-day, and lay them prone
On the white steps of the Throne.
Properly is this confessed:
“Day of all the week the best.”
Do not lie in slumber's thrall,
You who would with heaven rise;
Do not let 'midst rubbish fall
This gold ladder to the skies.
You must join the child-like throng
Yearning for a Father's love;
You must help to make the song
That is waited for above.
Toil, that others you may see
By the powers of goodness blessed;
Then your Sunday-life will be
“Emblem of Eternal Rest.”
You who would with heaven rise;
Do not let 'midst rubbish fall
This gold ladder to the skies.
You must join the child-like throng
Yearning for a Father's love;
You must help to make the song
That is waited for above.
Toil, that others you may see
By the powers of goodness blessed;
Then your Sunday-life will be
“Emblem of Eternal Rest.”
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