THE CLERGYMAN AND THE PEDDLER.
A CLERGYMAN who longed to trace
Amid his flock a work of grace,
And mourned because he knew not why
Yon fleece kept wet while his kept dry,
While thinking what he could do more
Heard some one rapping at the door,
And, opening it, there met his view
A dear old brother whom he knew,
Who had gotten down by worldly blows,
From wealth to peddling cast-off clothes. “Come in, my brother,” said the pastor,
“Perhaps my trouble you can master;
For since the summer you withdrew,
My converts have been very few.”
“I can,” the peddler said, “unroll
Something, perchance, to ease your soul;
And to cut short all useless speeches,
Bring me a pair of your old breeches.” The clothes were brought, the peddler gazed,
And said, “No longer be amazed;
The gloss upon the cloth is such,
I think, perhaps, you sit too much,
Building air castles, bright and gay,
Which Satan loves to blow away.
And here, behold, as I am born,
The nap from neither knee is worn!
He who would great revivals see,
Must wear his pants out at the knee.
For such the lever prayer supplies,
When pastors kneel, their churches rise.”
—Sel.