POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1999, 21 July 1880, Page 3

POETRY.

THE MINISTER WE WANT. (Anxiously inscribed to the Presiding Elder. Ton told us, you remember, sir, When you Wore here, one day. We each might choose a minister, And have it our own way. And then you’d please us —if you could— That’s what you said when here. You’d send us one from conference. To suit us all next year. We’ve “many men of many minds 11 In our society; And many women, too, one finds Who never can agree. But they’ve been tolling me their wants, Bach hope, and doubt, and fear, And what sort of a minister They’re looking for next year. They want a man who’s very rich, He’ll keep book agents then, And never send them to his flock For them to entertain. They want a minister who’s poor. For then he won’t bo proud, Too good to mix with common folks. Or smile upon a crowd. We want a man who lives on Faith, And not on bread and butter. Who, if his salary falls behind, Of course will never mutter. Do you know such a minister As I’m describing here ? If so, I hope you’ll send him down To preach for us next year. He must be pretty careful, too, If he’s a new beginner, And tell it easy, ’bout that place That’s fixed up for the sinner ; For everybody now-a-daya Don’t like the cast-iron teachings ; Of course he’ll want to try and please When he comes here a preaching. There’s Deacon Grabb. he wants a man To preach without his notes, And neighbor Stubbs and uncle Zete Will never bast their votes For any man who cannot write A sermon if he tries, And read it off from end to end And never raise his eyes. Our grandpa Spriggs is very deaf. Can scarcely hear at all, And so he wants a minister To screech, and scream, and bawl; While little aunty Fueser Is so fidgety and nervous. If one speaks above a whisper She never stays through service. There’s Mrs Lofty, she has three Or four great grown-up daughters, She oasts them out year after year Like bread upon the waters. But after many days she finds Them gathered about. As old, and sour, and crusty As when she sent them out. And so she thinks a minister For our church shouldn’t be A married man, with household goods. And cares of family. Well, then there’s Roxy Meadows, So tall, and sparse, and wan, She thinks ’twere best a widower Should be our coming man. And thus I've tried to tell you What the Uppertowners need, If you know of such a minister, Do send him with all speed. As for myself, I promise you I’ll try to do my best To be well satisfied if you Will only suit the rest. We’ve got a big meeting-house, And a great big Bible, too, And we want a man who knows it all From Genesis, clear through j A man who’s been to Europe, And been through school and college, With a purse brim-full of money. And a head brim-full of knowledge. If suoh a man and a minister You ever chance to see, Just send him down to Uppertown, He’ll suit us to a T. I’ve tried to think of all our wants, And keep my memory clear. And so, if you’ll remember, air, What I have written here, WeTl try to like the minister You send to us next year.