I recognise, and kiss the rod—
The methodistic ‘voice of God;’
I catch contrite that angel whine,
That snuffle human, yet divine.
Di. It may be I am somewhat of a poltroon;
I never fought at school; whether it be
Some native poorness in my spirit’s blood,
Or that the holy doctrine of our faith
In too exclusive fervency possessed
My heart with feelings, with ideas my brain.