Subdued-like was his manner, and some tones were hardly vocal;
But every word and sentence was pre-eminently local!
Still, the sermon sounded awkward, and we awkward felt who heard it;
’Twas a grief to see him steer it—’twas a pain to hear him word it.
“When I was abroad”—was maybe half-a-dozen times repeated;
But that sentence seemed to choke him, and was always uncompleted.
As weeks went on, his old smile would occasionally brighten,
But the voice was growing feeble, and the face began to whiten;
He would look off to the eastward, with a wistful, weary sighing,
And ’twas whispered that our pastor in a foreign land was dying.