Where prisoners sighed beneath guilt’s horrid stain,
The worst confinement and the heaviest chain;
Where death’s sad shade the uninstructed sight
Veil’d with thick darkness in the land of light
Nor yet the priestly function he invades:
’Tis not his sermon, but his life, persuades.
Humble and teachable, to church he flies,
Prepared to practise, not to criticise.
Then only angry, when a wretch conveys
The Deist’s poison in the Gospel phrase.