THE THREE VOICES!
1st. The Voice of Conscience says,
Man! mind thyself, and all thyself;
Thy inner self, thy outer self,
Thy present self, thy future self,
The best of self, and worst of self;
Or it may chance that thou, thyself,
For ever may’st upbraid thyself,
For making such a fool of self,
As not in time to know thyself!
2nd. The Voice of the Flesh says,
O Man! do thou enjoy thyself,
For why should’st thou annoy thyself,
Or strangely thus employ thyself,
In seeking thus to know thyself,
When other men are like thyself!
Beware lest thou destroy thyself!
Be not a burden to thyself,
While thou hast life within thyself!
3rd. The Voice of the Devil says,
Fine man, think highly of thyself!
Put no restraint upon thyself;
Nor with religion plague thyself!
For thou art not so bad as self
Would sometimes make thee think thyself!
To my advice submit thyself,
And in thy lusts indulge thyself;—
Then I at last shall get thyself!
A DIALOGUE
Between Rosedale Bob and Hartoft John, on a Speech delivered by the Venerable The Archdeacon P——, L.L.D., at a Bible Meeting held in the new Church, Rosedale.
John.—What cheer, awd stock? say what’s ther beean te doo,
’At macks ye leeak seea dark aboot yer broo?
Yoo leeak as thof yer parliament petition
Had met wi’ sum romantic opposition!
Or mebby yoo hev met wi’ sum abuse,
Or fra’ sum quarter heeard sum heavy news!
Perhaps the trial may cum clooaser still,
Yer wife or childer may be takken ill.
Bob.—Alas! the news Ah hev te tell’s seea bad,
The fields an’ forests seeam i’ moorning clad;
By men unauthorized an’ unordeean’d,
Oor new erected Temple is profeean’d!
The cushions an’ the tassels all are soil’d,
The bell’s enchanted, an’ oor woorship’s spoil’d,
They’ve held in it, what’s caus’d this desecration,
A meetin’ for t’ Baable’s circulation.
John.—If that be all the thing’s as leeght as chaff,
The fields an’ fleeads may clap ther hands an’ laff;
Sin’ better sense is teeachin’ greeat an’ small,
Te send this glorious leeght fra’ pole te pole!
’Tis yan o’ Jesus Christ’s last greeat commands,
Te send this leeght te dark an’ heathen lands.
Lets whooap the profit ’ll ootweigh the loss;—
If t’parson beean’t t’Church ’ll be neea worse!