L'ENVOY.
Sermons of near an hour,
Too much for human power;
Prayers, too, made to match
(Extemporaneous batch,
Wofully blundered).
With a service of music,
Fit to turn every pew sick,
Should it be wondered?
Churches that will not move
Out of the ancient groove
Through which they floundered.
If they will lag behind,
Still must expect to find
Hearers of such a kind
As the Six Hundred!
THE CHARGE OF THE BLACK BRIGADE.[3]
Half a day, half a day,
Sped the clocks onward,
While in Freemason's Hall
Roared the six hundred!—
Frantic the Black Brigade,
"Charge for the Church!" they said,
In the Freemason's Hall
Roared the six hundred!
Frantic the Black Brigade,
Fearful the row they made,
Some day they'll know too well
How they have blundered.
Theirs not to hear reply,
Theirs throat and lungs to try,
Theirs to bawl "Low" and "High,"
Round the Archbishop's chair
Roared the seven hundred!
Canons to right of him,
Canons to left of him,
Canons in front of him,
Shouted and thundered!
Stormed at with groan and yell,
Really they stood it well,
Till they were out of breath,
Till an Earl tried to quell
Howls by the hundred!
Flustered the laymen's hair;
Flushed all the clergy were;
Scaring the waiters there
Hooting and hissing, while
York's prelate wondered—
Guides of us sinner folk
Precept and law they broke,
Curate and rector spoke,
Dealing the Church a stroke
Shaken and sundered—
Then they divided, and
Lost the six hundred!
Clergy to right of chair,
Clergy to left of chair,
Clergy in front of chair,
Shouted and thundered!
Stamping, with groan and yell,
Past any power to quell,
They who had roared so well
Went blessed, and out of breath,
Back to their flocks to tell
All that was done by them—
Nice fourteen hundred!
When will the scandal fade
Of the wild row they made?
All the world wondered
Why such a noise was made
All by the Church Brigade—
Blind fourteen hundred!
Punch, 1868.