The ruined parsonage, the roofless school,
The village of its preacher’s voice bereft,
The little flock without a shepherd left,
Without “the man to all the country dear,”
Whose part it was to teach, to warn, to cheer;
“Unskilful he to fawn or seek for power
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
Still in his duty prompt at every call,