Ode To Rae Wilson, Esq. To The Editor Of The Athenëum Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEF GH IJKLMNOPQBRSTUI V WXWY ZA2 B2IIB2C2C2D2E2D2D2E2 F2F2G2H2G2H2I2I2I2I2 J2I2J2 K2K2QL2L2QM2M2C2C2N2 K2N2K2 I2O2I2O2P2M2M2P2I2Q2 I2I2Q2UR2UR2 N2S2N2S2ZS2S2ZS2 QQS2S2S2S2S2 S2I2S2I2 T2T2I2I2O2I2O2 I2S2S2I2 S2S2US2S2NS2IIS2 E2S2E2S2I2I2N2UUN2 I2E2I2E2U2AU2A N2N2O2EYO2 V2N2V2N2N2I2I2N2N2S2 N2S2 I2O2I2O2N2N2W2I2I2W2 X2N2Y2N2 N2YN2EN2NNN2 Z2N2N2Z2N2A3N2N2A3A3 AAUN2UN2 I2N2I2N2N2E2N2E2 UE2UE2B3B3N2C3C3N2 N2N2I2I2I2I2N2I2N2I2 I2N2N2I2N2N2I2D3D3I2 I2 UE3UE3F3I2I2I2I2I2 N2O2O2N2 I2E2I2E2N2E2N2E2I2C3 C3I2UUN2D3D3N2D3 A3I2I2A3I2N2I2N2N2N2 N2N2 A3A3I2N2I2N2A3O2O2A3 N2N2N2N2N2E2N2E2UI2U I2 G3UG3UI2UI2UUI2A3I2A 3 N2I2I2N2I2N2N2I2H3W2 H3W2W2E3N2E3E3N2 N2A3N2A3I2I2O2N2O2N2 I2I2 I2I2N2C3C3N2UUN2N2E3 E3U N2N2N2E3E3N2N2E3E3D3 E3N2D3N2 N2N2E3N2E3N2 I2UI2U D3UD3D3U N2N2N2N2 N2D3D3N2N2 A3E3A3E3E3A3N2N2D3D3 I2I2I2I2E3C3E3C3 N2I2I2N2N2I2N2 E3I2I2E3E3D3D3UD3U N2I2N2I2E3N2N2E3UUUU N2A3A3N2 N2N2E3N2N2E3N2D3D3N2 N2N2I2I2N2 I2I2I2I2I2N2N2N2N2UQ QU I2I2E3G3G3E3A3E3A3 N2N2N2N2 N2UUN2N2 D3N2D3N2UUUUU N2N2E3N2N2E3I2I2D3I2 D3D3I2 UUN2N2N2N2MY DEAR SIR The following Ode was written anticipating the tone of | A |
some strictures on my writings by the gentleman to whom it is | B |
addressed I have not seen his book but I know by hearsay that some | C |
of my verses are characterized as profaneness and ribaldry citing | D |
in proof the description of a certain sow from whose jaw a cabbage | E |
sprout | F |
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Protruded as the dove so staunch | G |
For peace supports an olive branch | H |
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If the printed works of my Censor had not prepared me for any | I |
misapplication of types I should have been surprised by this | J |
misapprehension of one of the commonest emblems In some cases the | K |
dove unquestionably stands for the Divine Spirit but the same bird | L |
is also a lay representative of the peace of this world and as such | M |
has figured time out of mind in allegorical pictures The sense in | N |
which it was used by me is plain from the context at least it | O |
would be plain to any one but a fisher for faults predisposed to | P |
carp at some things to dab at others and to flounder in all But I | Q |
am possibly in error It is the female swine perhaps that is | B |
profaned in the eyes of the Oriental tourist Men find strange ways | R |
of marking their intolerance and the spirit is certainly strong | S |
enough in Mr W 's works to set up a creature as sacred in sheer | T |
opposition to the Mussulman with whom she is a beast of abomination | U |
It would only be going the whole sow I am dear Sir yours very truly | I |
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THOS HOOD | V |
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Close close your eyes with holy dread | W |
And weave a circle round him thrice | X |
For he on honey dew hath fed | W |
And drunk the milk of Paradise COLERIDGE | Y |
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It's very hard them kind of men | Z |
Won't let a body be Old Ballad | A2 |
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A wanderer Wilson from my native land | B2 |
Remote O Rae from godliness and thee | I |
Where rolls between us the eternal sea | I |
Besides some furlongs of a foreign sand | B2 |
Beyond the broadest Scotch of London Wall | C2 |
Beyond the loudest Saint that has a call | C2 |
Across the wavy waste between us stretch'd | D2 |
A friendly missive warns me of a stricture | E2 |
Wherein my likeness you have darkly etch'd | D2 |
And though I have not seen the shadow sketch'd | D2 |
Thus I remark prophetic on the picture | E2 |
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I guess the features in a line to paint | F2 |
Their moral ugliness I'm not a saint | F2 |
Not one of those self constituted saints | G2 |
Quacks not physicians in the cure of souls | H2 |
Censors who sniff out mortal taints | G2 |
And call the devil over his own coals | H2 |
Those pseudo Privy Councillors of God | I2 |
Who write down judgments with a pen hard nibb'd | I2 |
Ushers of Beelzebub's Black Rod | I2 |
Commending sinners not to ice thick ribb'd | I2 |
But endless flames to scorch them up like flax | J2 |
Yet sure of heav'n themselves as if they'd cribb'd | I2 |
Th' impression of St Peter's keys in wax | J2 |
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Of such a character no single trace | K2 |
Exists I know in my fictitious face | K2 |
There wants a certain cast about the eye | Q |
A certain lifting of the nose's tip | L2 |
A certain curling of the nether lip | L2 |
In scorn of all that is beneath the sky | Q |
In brief it is an aspect deleterious | M2 |
A face decidedly not serious | M2 |
A face profane that would not do at all | C2 |
To make a face at Exeter Hall | C2 |
That Hall where bigots rant and cant and pray | N2 |
And laud each other face to face | K2 |
Till ev'ry farthing candle ray | N2 |
Conceives itself a great gas light of grace | K2 |
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Well be the graceless lineaments confest | I2 |
I do enjoy this bounteous beauteous earth | O2 |
And dote upon a jest | I2 |
Within the limits of becoming mirth | O2 |
No solemn sanctimonious face I pull | P2 |
Nor think I'm pious when I'm only bilious | M2 |
Nor study in my sanctum supercilious | M2 |
To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull | P2 |
I pray for grace repent each sinful act | I2 |
Peruse but underneath the rose my Bible | Q2 |
And love my neighbor far too well in fact | I2 |
To call and twit him with a godly tract | I2 |
That's turn'd by application to a libel | Q2 |
My heart ferments not with the bigot's leaven | U |
All creeds I view with toleration thorough | R2 |
And have a horror of regarding heaven | U |
As anybody's rotten borough | R2 |
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What else no part I take in party fray | N2 |
With troops from Billingsgate's slang whanging tartars | S2 |
I fear no Pope and let great Ernest play | N2 |
At Fox and Goose with Foxs' Martyrs | S2 |
I own I laugh at over righteous men | Z |
I own I shake my sides at ranters | S2 |
And treat sham Abr'am saints with wicked banters | S2 |
I even own that there are times but then | Z |
It's when I've got my wine I say d canters | S2 |
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I've no ambition to enact the spy | Q |
On fellow souls a Spiritual Pry | Q |
'Tis said that people ought to guard their noses | S2 |
Who thrust them into matters none of theirs | S2 |
And tho' no delicacy discomposes | S2 |
Your Saint yet I consider faith and pray'rs | S2 |
Amongst the privatest of men's affairs | S2 |
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I do not hash the Gospel in my books | S2 |
And thus upon the public mind intrude it | I2 |
As if I thought like Otaheitan cooks | S2 |
No food was fit to eat till I had chewed it | I2 |
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On Bible stilts I don't affect to stalk | T2 |
Nor lard with Scripture my familiar talk | T2 |
For man may pious texts repeat | I2 |
And yet religion have no inward seat | I2 |
'Tis not so plain as the old Hill of Howth | O2 |
A man has got his belly full of meat | I2 |
Because he talks with victuals in his mouth | O2 |
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Mere verbiage it is not worth a carrot | I2 |
Why Socrates or Plato where's the odds | S2 |
Once taught a jay to supplicate the Gods | S2 |
And made a Polly theist of a Parrot | I2 |
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A mere professor spite of all his cant is | S2 |
Not a whit better than a Mantis | S2 |
An insect of what clime I can't determine | U |
That lifts its paws most parson like and thence | S2 |
By simple savages thro' sheer pretence | S2 |
Is reckon'd quite a saint amongst the vermin | N |
But where's the reverence or where the nous | S2 |
To ride on one's religion thro' the lobby | I |
Whether a stalking horse or hobby | I |
To show its pious paces to the house | S2 |
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I honestly confess that I would hinder | E2 |
The Scottish member's legislative rigs | S2 |
That spiritual Pinder | E2 |
Who looks on erring souls as straying pigs | S2 |
That must be lash'd by law wherever found | I2 |
And driv'n to church as to the parish pound | I2 |
I do confess without reserve or wheedle | N2 |
I view that grovelling idea as one | U |
Worthy some parish clerk's ambitious son | U |
A charity boy who longs to be a beadle | N2 |
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On such a vital topic sure 'tis odd | I2 |
How much a man can differ from his neighbor | E2 |
One wishes worship freely giv'n to God | I2 |
Another wants to make it statute labor | E2 |
The broad distinction in a line to draw | U2 |
As means to lead us to the skies above | A |
You say Sir Andrew and his love of law | U2 |
And I the Saviour with his law of love | A |
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Spontaneously to God should tend the soul | N2 |
Like the magnetic needle to the Pole | N2 |
But what were that intrinsic virtue worth | O2 |
Suppose some fellow with more zeal than knowledge | E |
Fresh from St Andrew's College | Y |
Should nail the conscious needle to the north | O2 |
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I do confess that I abhor and shrink | V2 |
From schemes with a religious willy nilly | N2 |
That frown upon St Giles's sins but blink | V2 |
The peccadilloes of all Piccadilly | N2 |
My soul revolts at such a bare hypocrisy | N2 |
And will not dare not fancy in accord | I2 |
The Lord of Hosts with an Exclusive Lord | I2 |
Of this world's aristocracy | N2 |
It will not own a notion so unholy | N2 |
As thinking that the rich by easy trips | S2 |
May go to heav'n whereas the poor and lowly | N2 |
Must work their passage as they do in ships | S2 |
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One place there is beneath the burial sod | I2 |
Where all mankind are equalized by death | O2 |
Another place there is the Fane of God | I2 |
Where all are equal who draw living breath | O2 |
Juggle who will elsewhere with his own soul | N2 |
Playing the Judas with a temporal dole | N2 |
He who can come beneath that awful cope | W2 |
In the dread presence of a Maker just | I2 |
Who metes to ev'ry pinch of human dust | I2 |
One even measure of immortal hope | W2 |
He who can stand within that holy door | X2 |
With soul unbow'd by that pure spirit level | N2 |
And frame unequal laws for rich and poor | Y2 |
Might sit for Hell and represent the Devil | N2 |
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Such are the solemn sentiments O Rae | N2 |
In your last Journey Work perchance you ravage | Y |
Seeming but in more courtly terms to say | N2 |
I'm but a heedless creedless godless savage | E |
A very Guy deserving fire and faggots | N2 |
A Scoffer always on the grin | N |
And sadly given to the mortal sin | N |
Of liking Maw worms less than merry maggots | N2 |
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The humble records of my life to search | Z2 |
I have not herded with mere pagan beasts | N2 |
But sometimes I have sat at good men's feasts | N2 |
And I have been where bells have knoll'd to church | Z2 |
Dear bells how sweet the sounds of village bells | N2 |
When on the undulating air they swim | A3 |
Now loud as welcomes faint now as farewells | N2 |
And trembling all about the breezy dells | N2 |
As flutter'd by the wings of Cherubim | A3 |
Meanwhile the bees are chanting a low hymn | A3 |
And lost to sight th' ecstatic lark above | A |
Sings like a soul beatified of love | A |
With now and then the coo of the wild pigeon | U |
O Pagans Heathens Infidels and Doubters | N2 |
If such sweet sounds can't woo you to religion | U |
Will the harsh voices of church cads and touters | N2 |
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A man may cry Church Church at ev'ry word | I2 |
With no more piety than other people | N2 |
A daw's not reckon'd a religious bird | I2 |
Because it keeps a cawing from a steeple | N2 |
The Temple is a good a holy place | N2 |
But quacking only gives it an ill savor | E2 |
While saintly mountebanks the porch disgrace | N2 |
And bring religion's self into disfavor | E2 |
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Behold yon servitor of God and Mammon | U |
Who binding up his Bible with his Ledger | E2 |
Blends Gospel texts with trading gammon | U |
A black leg saint a spiritual hedger | E2 |
Who backs his rigid Sabbath so to speak | B3 |
Against the wicked remnant of the week | B3 |
A saving bet against his sinful bias | N2 |
Rogue that I am he whispers to himself | C3 |
I lie I cheat do anything for pelf | C3 |
But who on earth can say I am not pious | N2 |
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In proof how over righteousness re acts | N2 |
Accept an anecdote well based on facts | N2 |
One Sunday morning at the day don't fret | I2 |
In riding with a friend to Ponder's End | I2 |
Outside the stage we happened to commend | I2 |
A certain mansion that we saw To Let | I2 |
Ay cried our coachman with our talk to grapple | N2 |
You're right no house along the road comes nigh it | I2 |
'Twas built by the same man as built yon chapel | N2 |
And master wanted once to buy it | I2 |
But t'other driv the bargain much too hard | I2 |
He ax'd sure ly a sum purdigious | N2 |
But being so particular religious | N2 |
Why that you see put master on his guard | I2 |
Church is a little heav'n below | N2 |
I have been there and still would go | N2 |
Yet I am none of those who think it odd | I2 |
A man can pray unbidden from the cassock | D3 |
And passing by the customary hassock | D3 |
Kneel down remote upon the simple sod | I2 |
And sue in form pauperis to God | I2 |
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As for the rest intolerant to none | U |
Whatever shape the pious rite may bear | E3 |
Ev'n the poor Pagan's homage to the Sun | U |
I would not harshly scorn lest even there | E3 |
I spurn'd some elements of Christian pray'r | F3 |
An aim tho' erring at a world ayont | I2 |
Acknowledgment of good of man's futility | I2 |
A sense of need and weakness and indeed | I2 |
That very thing so many Christians want | I2 |
Humility | I2 |
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Such unto Papists Jews or turban'd Turks | N2 |
Such is my spirit I don't mean my wraith | O2 |
Such may it please you is my humble faith | O2 |
I know full well you do not like my works | N2 |
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I have not sought 'tis true the Holy Land | I2 |
As full of texts as Cuddie Headrigg's mother | E2 |
The Bible in one hand | I2 |
And my own commonplace book in the other | E2 |
But you have been to Palestine alas | N2 |
Some minds improve by travel others rather | E2 |
Resemble copper wire or brass | N2 |
Which gets the narrower by going farther | E2 |
Worthless are all such Pilgrimages very | I2 |
If Palmers at the Holy Tomb contrive | C3 |
The human heats and rancor to revive | C3 |
That at the Sepulchre they ought to bury | I2 |
A sorry sight it is to rest the eye on | U |
To see a Christian creature graze at Sion | U |
Then homeward of the saintly pasture full | N2 |
Rush bellowing and breathing fire and smoke | D3 |
At crippled Papistry to butt and poke | D3 |
Exactly as a skittish Scottish bull | N2 |
Hunts an old woman in a scarlet cloak | D3 |
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Why leave a serious moral pious home | A3 |
Scotland renown'd for sanctity of old | I2 |
Far distant Catholics to rate and scold | I2 |
For doing as the Romans do at Rome | A3 |
With such a bristling spirit wherefore quit | I2 |
The Land of Cakes for any land of wafers | N2 |
About the graceless images to flit | I2 |
And buzz and chafe importunate as chafers | N2 |
Longing to carve the carvers to Scotch collops | N2 |
People who hold such absolute opinions | N2 |
Should stay at home in Protestant dominions | N2 |
Not travel like male Mrs Trollopes | N2 |
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Gifted with noble tendency to climb | A3 |
Yet weak at the same time | A3 |
Faith is a kind of parasitic plant | I2 |
That grasps the nearest stem with tendril rings | N2 |
And as the climate and the soil may grant | I2 |
So is the sort of tree to which it clings | N2 |
Consider then before like Hurlothrumbo | A3 |
You aim your club at any creed on earth | O2 |
That by the simple accident of birth | O2 |
You might have been High Priest to Mumbo Jumbo | A3 |
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For me thro' heathen ignorance perchance | N2 |
Not having knelt in Palestine I feel | N2 |
None of that griffinish excess of zeal | N2 |
Some travellers would blaze with here in France | N2 |
Dolls I can see in virgin like array | N2 |
Nor for a scuffle with the idols hanker | E2 |
Like crazy Quixote at the puppet's play | N2 |
If their offence be rank should mine be rancor | E2 |
Mild light and by degrees should be the plan | U |
To cure the dark and erring mind | I2 |
But who would rush at a benighted man | U |
And give him two black eyes for being blind | I2 |
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Suppose the tender but luxuriant hop | G3 |
Around a canker'd stem should twine | U |
What Kentish boor would tear away the prop | G3 |
So roughly as to wound nay kill the bine | U |
The images 'tis true are strangely dress'd | I2 |
With gauds and toys extremely out of season | U |
The carving nothing of the very best | I2 |
The whole repugnant to the eye of reason | U |
Shocking to Taste and to Fine Arts a treason | U |
Yet ne'er o'erlook in bigotry of sect | I2 |
One truly Catholic one common form | A3 |
At which uncheck'd | I2 |
All Christian hearts may kindle or keep warm | A3 |
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Say was it to my spirit's gain or loss | N2 |
One bright and balmy morning as I went | I2 |
From Liege's lovely environs to Ghent | I2 |
If hard by the wayside I found a cross | N2 |
That made me breathe a pray'r upon the spot | I2 |
While Nature of herself as if to trace | N2 |
The emblem's use had trail'd around its base | N2 |
The blue significant Forget me not | I2 |
Methought the claims of Charity to urge | H3 |
More forcibly along with Faith and Hope | W2 |
The pious choice had pitched upon the verge | H3 |
Of a delicious slope | W2 |
Giving the eye much variegated scope | W2 |
Look round it whisper'd on that prospect rare | E3 |
Those vales so verdant and those hills so blue | N2 |
Enjoy the sunny world so fresh and fair | E3 |
But how the simple legend pierced me thro' | E3 |
PRIEZ POUR LES MALHEUREUX | N2 |
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With sweet kind natures as in honey'd cells | N2 |
Religion lives and feels herself at home | A3 |
But only on a formal visit dwells | N2 |
Where wasps instead of bees have formed the comb | A3 |
Shun pride O Rae whatever sort beside | I2 |
You take in lieu shun spiritual pride | I2 |
A pride there is of rank a pride of birth | O2 |
A pride of learning and a pride of purse | N2 |
A London pride in short there be on earth | O2 |
A host of prides some better and some worse | N2 |
But of all prides since Lucifer's attaint | I2 |
The proudest swells a self elected Saint | I2 |
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To picture that cold pride so harsh and hard | I2 |
Fancy a peacock in a poultry yard | I2 |
Behold him in conceited circles sail | N2 |
Strutting and dancing and now planted stiff | C3 |
In all his pomp of pageantry as if | C3 |
He felt the eyes of Europe on his tail | N2 |
As for the humble breed retain'd by man | U |
He scorns the whole domestic clan | U |
He bows he bridles | N2 |
He wheels he sidles | N2 |
At last with stately dodgings in a corner | E3 |
He pens a simple russet hen to scorn her | E3 |
Full in the blaze of his resplendent fan | U |
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Look here he cries to give him words | N2 |
Thou feather'd clay thou scum of birds | N2 |
Flirting the rustling plumage in her eyes | N2 |
Look here thou vile predestined sinner | E3 |
Doom'd to be roasted for a dinner | E3 |
Behold those lovely variegated dyes | N2 |
These are the rainbow colors of the skies | N2 |
That Heav'n has shed upon me con amore | E3 |
A Bird of Paradise a pretty story | E3 |
I am that Saintly Fowl thou paltry chick | D3 |
Look at my crown of glory | E3 |
Thou dingy dirty drabbled draggled jill | N2 |
And off goes Partlet wriggling from a kick | D3 |
With bleeding scalp laid open by his bill | N2 |
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That little simile exactly paints | N2 |
How sinners are despised by saints | N2 |
By saints the Hypocrites that ope heav'n's door | E3 |
Obsequious to the sinful man of riches | N2 |
But put the wicked naked barelegg'd poor | E3 |
In parish stocks instead of breeches | N2 |
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The Saints the Bigots that in public spout | I2 |
Spread phosphorus of zeal on scraps of fustian | U |
And go like walking Lucifers about | I2 |
Mere living bundles of combustion | U |
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The Saints the aping Fanatics that talk | D3 |
All cant and rant and rhapsodies high flown | U |
That bid you baulk | D3 |
A Sunday walk | D3 |
And shun God's work as you should shun your own | U |
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The Saints the Formalists the extra pious | N2 |
Who think the mortal husk can save the soul | N2 |
By trundling with a mere mechanic bias | N2 |
To church just like a lignum vit bowl | N2 |
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The Saints the Pharisees whose beadle stands | N2 |
Beside a stern coercive kirk | D3 |
A piece of human mason work | D3 |
Calling all sermons contrabands | N2 |
In that great Temple that's not made with hands | N2 |
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Thrice blessed rather is the man with whom | A3 |
The gracious prodigality of nature | E3 |
The balm the bliss the beauty and the bloom | A3 |
The bounteous providence in ev'ry feature | E3 |
Recall the good Creator to his creature | E3 |
Making all earth a fane all heav'n its dome | A3 |
To his tuned spirit the wild heather bells | N2 |
Ring Sabbath knells | N2 |
The jubilate of the soaring lark | D3 |
Is chant of clerk | D3 |
For choir the thrush and the gregarious linnet | I2 |
The sod's a cushion for his pious want | I2 |
And consecrated by the heav'n within it | I2 |
The sky blue pool a font | I2 |
Each cloud capped mountain is a holy altar | E3 |
An organ breathes in every grove | C3 |
And the full heart's a Psalter | E3 |
Rich in deep hymns of gratitude and love | C3 |
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Sufficiently by stern necessitarians | N2 |
Poor Nature with her face begrimed by dust | I2 |
Is stoked coked smoked and almost choked but must | I2 |
Religion have its own Utilitarians | N2 |
Labell'd with evangelical phylacteries | N2 |
To make the road to heav'n a railway trust | I2 |
And churches that's the naked fact mere factories | N2 |
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Oh simply open wide the Temple door | E3 |
And let the solemn swelling organ greet | I2 |
With Voluntaries meet | I2 |
The willing advent of the rich and poor | E3 |
And while to God the loud Hosannas soar | E3 |
With rich vibrations from the vocal throng | D3 |
From quiet shades that to the woods belong | D3 |
And brooks with music of their own | U |
Voices may come to swell the choral song | D3 |
With notes of praise they learned in musings lone | U |
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How strange it is while on all vital questions | N2 |
That occupy the House and public mind | I2 |
We always meet with some humane suggestions | N2 |
Of gentle measures of a healing kind | I2 |
Instead of harsh severity and vigor | E3 |
The Saint alone his preference retains | N2 |
For bills of penalties and pains | N2 |
And marks his narrow code with legal rigor | E3 |
Why shun as worthless of affiliation | U |
What men of all political persuasion | U |
Extol and even use upon occasion | U |
That Christian principle Conciliation | U |
But possibly the men who make such fuss | N2 |
With Sunday pippins and old Trots infirm | A3 |
Attach some other meaning to the term | A3 |
As thus | N2 |
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One market morning in my usual rambles | N2 |
Passing along Whitechapel's ancient shambles | N2 |
Where meat was hung in many a joint and quarter | E3 |
I had to halt awhile like other folks | N2 |
To let a killing butcher coax | N2 |
A score of lambs and fatted sheep to slaughter | E3 |
A sturdy man he looke'd to fell an ox | N2 |
Bull fronted ruddy with a formal streak | D3 |
Of well greased hair down either cheek | D3 |
As if he dee dash dee'd some other flocks | N2 |
Beside those woolly headed stubborn blocks | N2 |
That stood before him in vexatious huddle | N2 |
Poor little lambs with bleating wethers group'd | I2 |
While now and then a thirsty creature stoop'd | I2 |
And meekly snuff'd but did not taste the puddle | N2 |
- | |
Fierce bark'd the dog and many a blow was dealt | I2 |
That loin and chump and scrag and saddle felt | I2 |
Yet still that fatal step they all declined it | I2 |
And shunn'd the tainted door as if they smelt | I2 |
Onions mint sauce and lemon juice behind it | I2 |
At last there came a pause of brutal force | N2 |
The cur was silent for his jaws were full | N2 |
Of tangled locks of tarry wool | N2 |
The man had whoop'd and holloed till dead hoarse | N2 |
The time was ripe for mild expostulation | U |
And thus it stammer'd from a stander by | Q |
Zounds my good fellow it quite makes me why | Q |
It really my dear fellow do just try Conciliation | U |
- | |
Stringing his nerves like flint | I2 |
The sturdy butcher seized upon the hint | I2 |
At least he seized upon the foremost wether | E3 |
And hugg'd and lugg'd and tugg'd him neck and crop | G3 |
Just nolens volens thro' the open shop | G3 |
If tails come off he didn't care a feather | E3 |
Then walking to the door and smiling grim | A3 |
He rubb'd his forehead and his sleeve together | E3 |
There I have conciliated him | A3 |
- | |
Again good humoredly to end our quarrel | N2 |
Good humor should prevail | N2 |
I'll fit you with a tale | N2 |
Whereto is tied a moral | N2 |
- | |
Once on a time a certain English lass | N2 |
Was seized with symptoms of such deep decline | U |
Cough hectic flushes ev'ry evil sign | U |
That as their wont is at such desperate pass | N2 |
The Doctors gave her over to an ass | N2 |
- | |
Accordingly the grisly Shade to bilk | D3 |
Each morn the patient quaff'd a frothy bowl | N2 |
Of asinine new milk | D3 |
Robbing a shaggy suckling of a foal | N2 |
Which got proportionably spare and skinny | U |
Meanwhile the neighbors cried Poor Mary Ann | U |
She can't get over it she never can | U |
When lo to prove each prophet was a ninny | U |
The one that died was the poor wet nurse Jenny | U |
- | |
To aggravate the case | N2 |
There were but two grown donkeys in the place | N2 |
And most unluckily for Eve's sick daughter | E3 |
The other long ear'd creature was a male | N2 |
Who never in his life had given a pail | N2 |
Of milk or even chalk and water | E3 |
No matter at the usual hour of eight | I2 |
Down trots a donkey to the wicket gate | I2 |
With Mister Simon Gubbins on his back | D3 |
Your sarvant Miss a worry spring like day | I2 |
Bad time for hasses tho' good lack good lack | D3 |
Jenny be dead Miss but I've brought ye Jack | D3 |
He doesn't give no milk but he can bray | I2 |
- | |
So runs the story | U |
And in vain self glory | U |
Some Saints would sneer at Gubbins for his blindness | N2 |
But what the better are their pious saws | N2 |
To ailing souls than dry hee haws | N2 |
Without the milk of human kindness | N2 |
Thomas Hood
(1)
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