The country parson turns and twists in bed,
As mighty thoughts run rampant through his head.
He mounts the village pulpit wreathed in smiles,
And proudly gazes down the crowded aisles.
Forgot is life, with its unvarnished views
And vault-like echoes from the empty pews,
The church is filled, his lips now move in prayer,
And touched is every heart that’s gathered there.
Not satisfied, his sermon follows next,
And from a flower he takes his simple text.