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,