THE GOOD MINISTER.
A man of gentle heart and noble mind,
Of manners simple—of demeanour kind,
Studious and self-denying, true and just,
Whom bad men must respect, whom all can trust.
Of manners simple—of demeanour kind,
Studious and self-denying, true and just,
Whom bad men must respect, whom all can trust.
Ah who, uncharitably harsh—prone to complain,—
Shall call him useless, or his labours vain?
Boldly affirming that no hell, no heaven,
The bad await, or to the good is given?
Shall call him useless, or his labours vain?
Boldly affirming that no hell, no heaven,
The bad await, or to the good is given?
Let such go visit once the house of death,
When swiftly ebbs the fast-departing breath,
And solemn fate, with never-failing power,
Awaits to close the last dark lingering hour.
When swiftly ebbs the fast-departing breath,
And solemn fate, with never-failing power,
Awaits to close the last dark lingering hour.
Tis then the minister's kind soothing aid
Dispels each gloomy doubt, each sombre shade:
Cheers the lone soul, and through the Saviour's love,
Instils bless'd hope, and points to realms above.
Dispels each gloomy doubt, each sombre shade:
Cheers the lone soul, and through the Saviour's love,
Instils bless'd hope, and points to realms above.
Thus soothed each anxious fear, all doubtings cease,
And the bless'd spirit takes its flight in peace,
Whilst weeping friends, inspired by solemn prayer,
Resigned to God—the last sad parting bear.
And the bless'd spirit takes its flight in peace,
Whilst weeping friends, inspired by solemn prayer,
Resigned to God—the last sad parting bear.
Thousands thus poor alone unfriended stand,
Unfed, untaught in our unhappy land,
Who pine with care, to whom no joy is given,
Who have no friend but God—no hope but heaven.
Unfed, untaught in our unhappy land,
Who pine with care, to whom no joy is given,
Who have no friend but God—no hope but heaven.
To them the minister's kind aid is more
Than golden treasures, or than learning's store,
And base is he who would with impious breath,
Destroy the poor man's solace, even in death.
Than golden treasures, or than learning's store,
And base is he who would with impious breath,
Destroy the poor man's solace, even in death.