What’s a guide-board ter every stray traveler In the pathway leadin’ ter God; I do not clasp my hands in dervotion, And at the church minister nod,—
Extollin’ his favorite utterances; Nor jine in the fervent “Amen,” That the folks in the meetin’ may think me One of them most pious laymen.
Nor go down on my marrers durin’ pr’ar, Raise my eyes ter Heaven and cry Ter God ter pour out His Holy Spirit, And bless me with grace from on High!
In meetin’ I do not yell out “Glory!” “Bless the Lord who died for sinners!” “Come down, dear Jesus; I’ll clasp ye right here!” Nor ’nvite the parson ter dinners.
I’ve sarch’d from Gen’ses ter Reverlation For a precerdent, but I can’t Find that Christ and His Erpostles have spent The Sabbath in boisterous rant!
The knees of my Sabbath mornin’ trousers May not show same ermount of war’ As those of Deacon Horatio Sparling, Who’s worn holes in his’n at pra’r.
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!