Withal he was pious—perhaps you will smile,
And ask how he happened the church to beguile;
Why, the churches accept men for better or worse,
If there’s only a plenty of cash in the purse.
Gold still buys remission as freely and fast,
As it did in the Catholic Church in the past.
’Tis the same thing right over, and that was the way,
That the church swallowed smoothly “good Mr. De Splae.”
O, you ought to have heard him when leading in prayer!
How he flattered the Father of All for his care,
And confessed he was sinful a thousand times o’er,
Which ’twas morally certain the Lord knew before.
The ladies responded in sweet little sighs,
With their elegant handkerchiefs pressed to their eyes,
But the pure, unseen spirits turned sadly away
From the loud-mouthed devotions of Mr. De Splae.
O, short-sighted mortal! Poor Mr. De Splae!
His mask of deception was molded in clay,
And when his external in death was let fall,
What he was, without seeming, was known unto all.
His garment of patches—his flimsy disguise—
Which had won him distinction in other men’s eyes,
Was “changed in a twinkling”—ay, vanished away,
Leaving nothing to boast of to Mr. De Splae.
Ah, a great reputation, a title, or name,
Oft brings its possessor to sorrow and shame;
But a character, founded in goodness and worth,
Outlasts all the perishing glories of earth.
O’er the frailties of nature, and changes of time,
It rises majestic, in beauty sublime,
Till the weak and faint-hearted are cheered by its ray,
Far above all mere seeming and empty display.
WILL IT PAY?
Men may say what they will
Of the Author of Ill,
And the wiles of the Devil that tempt them astray,
But there’s something far worse—
A more terrible curse—
It is selling the Truth for the sake of the pay.
Like Judas of old,
For silver or gold,
Man often has bartered his conscience away,
Has walked in disguise,
And has trafficked in lies,
If the prospect was good that the business would pay.
If a fortune is made
By cheating in trade,
It is seldom, if ever, men question the way;
But they make it a rule
That a man is a fool
Who strives to make justice and honesty pay.
An instance more clear
Could never appear,
Than was seen in the life of old Nicholas Gray,
Who ne’er made a move,
In religion or love,
Unless he was sure that the venture would pay.