A PASTOR'S THORNS.
The Pastor's critic! that is he
In the pew to the right marked number three;
You'll always find him in his place,
With the same hard look on his cynical face.
He's thoroughly versed in Scriptural lore,
But his heart is withered at the core;
Withered by pride and self-conceit,
Which are ever ready the soul to cheat.
In the pew to the right marked number three;
You'll always find him in his place,
With the same hard look on his cynical face.
He's thoroughly versed in Scriptural lore,
But his heart is withered at the core;
Withered by pride and self-conceit,
Which are ever ready the soul to cheat.
And that little man, so sleek and fat,
Who has just come in, is the autocrat;
He rules the market of grain they say.
And would rule the church if he had his way;
While across from him on the middle aisle.
The gossip sits with complacent smile,
So busily conning the news she has heard
That her ears are deaf to the Holy Word.
Who has just come in, is the autocrat;
He rules the market of grain they say.
And would rule the church if he had his way;
While across from him on the middle aisle.
The gossip sits with complacent smile,
So busily conning the news she has heard
That her ears are deaf to the Holy Word.
These three are the Pastor's sharpest thorns,
Although there are others for whom he mourns;
Others whose foolish and godless ways
Vex his thoughts and sadden his days,
For in the fold, among his sheep,
There are goats enough to make him weep.
Although there are others for whom he mourns;
Others whose foolish and godless ways
Vex his thoughts and sadden his days,
For in the fold, among his sheep,
There are goats enough to make him weep.
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