Laughed at he laughs again; and stricken hard
Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales,
That fear no discipline of human hands.

The pulpit, therefore (and I name it filled
With solemn awe, that bids me well beware
With what intent I touch that holy thing)—
The pulpit (when the satyrist has at last,
Strutting and vapouring in an empty school,
Spent all his force and made no proselyte)-
I say the pulpit (in the sober use

Of its legitimate peculiar powers)

Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand, The most important and effectual guard,

Support, and ornament, of virtue's cause.

There stands the messenger of truth: there stands
The legate of the skies!-His theme divine,
His office sacred, his credentials clear.

By him the violated law speaks out

Its thunders; and by him, in strains as sweet
As angels use, the gospel whispers peace.
He stablishes the strong, restores the weak,
Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart,
And, armed himself in panoply complete
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms,
Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule
Of holy discipline, to glorious war,

The sacramental host of God's elect!

Are all such teachers?-Would to heaven all were!
But hark-the doctor's voice!-fast wedged between
Two empirics he stands, and with swoln cheeks
Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far
Than all invective is his bold harangue,
While through that public organ of report
He hails the clergy; and, defying shame,
Announces to the world his own and theirs!
He teaches those to read, whom schools dismissed,

And colleges, untaught; sells accent, tone,
And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer
The adagio and andante it demands.
He grinds divinity of other days

Down into modern use; transforms old print
To zig-zag manuscript, and cheats the eyes
Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.

Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware?
Oh, name it not in Gath!-it cannot be,

That grave and learned clerks should need such aid.
He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll,
Assuming thus a rank unknown before-
Grand caterer and dry nurse of the church!

I venerate the man, whose heart is warm,
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof

That he is honest in the sacred cause.

To such I render more than mere respect,

Whose actions say that they respect themselves.
But loose in morals, and in manners vain,
In conversation frivolous, in dress
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse;
Frequent in park with lady at his side,
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes;
But rare at home, and never at his books,
Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card;
Constant at routs, familiar with a round
Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor;
Ambitious of preferment for its gold,
And well prepared, by ignorance and sloth,
By infidelity and love of world,

To make God's work a sinecure; a slave
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride :
From such apostles, oh ye mitred heads,
Preserve the church! and lay not careless hands
On sculls, that cannot teach, and will not learn.

Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, Paul should himself direct me. I would trace His master-strokes, and draw from his design. I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste, And natural in gesture; much impressed Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too; affectionate in look, And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men. Behold the picture!-Is it like?—Like whom? The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, And then skip down again; pronounce a text; Cry-hem; and reading what they never wrote, Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene! In man or woman, but far most in man, And most of all in man that ministers And serves the altar, in my soul I loath All affectation. "Tis my perfect scorn; Objects of my implacable disgust. What!-will a man play tricks, will he indulge A silly fond conceit of his fair form, And just proportion, fashionable mien, And pretty face, in presence of his God? Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, As with the diamond on his lily hand, And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, When I am hungry for the bread of life? He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames His noble office, and instead of truth, Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock! Therefore avaunt all attitude, and stare,

And start theatric, practised at the glass!

I seek divine simplicity in him

Who handles things divine; and all besides,

Though learned with labour, and though much admired
By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed,
To me is odious as the nasal twang

Heard at conventicle, where worthy men,
Misled by custom, strain celestial themes
Through the prest nostril, spectacle-bestrid.
Some decent in demeanour while they preach,
That task performed, relapse into themselves;
And having spoken wisely, at the close
Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye,
Whoever was edified, themselves were not!
Forth comes the pocket-mirror.-First we stroke
An eye-brow; next compose a straggling lock;
Then with an air most gracefully performed
Fall back into our seat, extend an arm
And lay it at its ease with gentle care,
With handkerchief in hand depending low:
The better hand more busy gives the nose
Its bergamot, or aids th' indebted eye
With opera-glass, to watch the moving scene,
And recognise the slow-retiring fair.-
Now this is fulsome; and offends me more
Than in a churchman slovenly neglect

And rustic coarseness would. An heavenly mind
May be indifferent to her house of clay,
And slight the hovel as beneath her care;
But how a body so fantastic, trim,

And quaint in its deportment and attire,
Can lodge an heavenly mind-demands a doubt.
He that negociates between God and man,

As God's ambassador, the grand concerns
Of judgment and of mercy, should beware
Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful

To court a grin, when you should woo a soul;
To break a jest, when pity would inspire
Pathetic exhortation; and to address

The skittish fancy with facetious tales,

When sent with God's commission to the heart!
So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip
Or merry turn in all he ever wrote,
And I consent you take it for your text,
Your only one, till sides and benches fail.
No: he was serious in a serious cause,
And understood too well the weighty terms
That he had ta'en in charge. He would not stoop
To conquer those by jocular exploits,

Whom truth and soberness assailed in vain.

Oh popular applause! what heart of man Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms? The wisest and the best feel urgent need Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales; But swelled into a gust-who then alas! With all his canvass set, and inexpert, And therefore heedless, can withstand thy power? Praise from the riveled lips of toothless bald Decrepitude, and in the looks of lean And craving poverty, and in the bow Respectful of the smutched artificer, Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb The bias of the purpose. How much more, Poured forth by beauty splendid and polite, In language soft as adoration breathes? Ah, spare your idol! think him human still. Charms he may have, but he has frailties too! Dote not too much, nor spoil what ye admire. All truth is from the sempiternal source Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome, Drew from the stream below. More favoured we Drink, when we choose it, at the fountain head.