I may not show the white of my eyes, like
The Deacon who looks for rerward
For countin’ the number of the rarfters,
When they pars the cup of the Lord!
I am not in the habit of tellin’
Sinners they’ll be left in the lurch,
In the last great day when Jerhover comes,
If thar not members of the church!
Or skeerin’ ’em with brimstone and fire,
And the vengeance of thar Maker,
If they turn thar backs on the Pascal Lamb,
And fail ter be a pertaker!
I do not prerclaim ter all my neighbors
Who’ve not bow’d down in corntrition
And jin’d the meetin’, that they’ve cartenly
A through ticket ter perdition!
That when the Lord shall come in His glory,
If thar not as pure as snow,
He will hurl His hot bolts of wrath at ’em,
And tell ’em ter git up and go!
That when the ran’som’d have enter’d in,
With the Lord ter thar final rest
In Heaven, and have put on the white robes
Emblermatical of the Blest—
The guilty sinner will be shunted orf
Ter lakes of sul-furious fires
Whar murderers, burgulars and drunkards
Pursue thar unlicens’d desires.
It is true I do not wrench from the poor
Part of the proceeds of thar sweat,
That my name may look large on subscriptions,
And that I may complerments get!
And be known as a great pherlanterpist
When they pars the corlection plate,
That receives money wrung from a brother,
Or filch’d from his orphan’s erstate!
O, no! I will freely own up ter it:
This sort of Rerligion don’t meet
My views of what’s right—what Jesus rerquires
Of all what come near ter His seat.
My idea of Christianity
Is of quite a different type,
And all them supercillious ranters
Who think for the Harvest thar ripe,
That, through thar pra’r and thar false prerfession,
They have been cleans’d of all thar sin,
Will find, when they apply for admission,
They have a slim chance ter get in!
My Rerligion is not a prerfession
That “I am holier than thou!”
That a man can not serve his Creator
If he don’t make a saintly bow!
The follerers of the Blessed Jesus,
Who war cradl’d in a menger,
Will strive ter love thar neighbor as themselves,
And gladden the lonely strenger—
With kindnesses what go home ter the heart
In hour of his greatest need,
And act the part of the Sermaritan,
Of whom we all derlight ter read.
I may be a sinner, and I doubt not
Have done heaps of things that war wrong;
But I love the example of the Lord,
And in secret pour out in song—
My acknolergements for His great bounty;
And I strive ter keep His commands,
What war written on tablets by Moses,
When Jerhover guided his hands!
In them, Commandments ye get the essence
Of the Truth as given ter man;
And if a poor sinner lives up ter ’em,
And labors the best that he can—
No matter if he is out of the church,
Whar the wicked ones are cryin’
For mercy! He’ll not be with the Deacon
Blubb’rin’ at the gates of Zion!