Be loudest in their praise who do no more.

Yet what can fatire, whether grave or gay ?
It may correct a foible, may chastise

The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress,

Retrench a fword-blade, or displace a patch;
But where are its fublimer trophies found?-

What vice has it fubdu'd? whofe heart reclaim'd
By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform ?
Alas! Leviathan is not fo tam'd:

Laugh'd at, he laughs again; and, ftricken hard,
Turns to the ftroke his adamantine scales,

That fear no difcipline of human hands.

The pulpit, therefore (and I name it fill'd
With folemn awe, that bids me well beware
With what intent I touch that holy thing)—
The pulpit (when the fatʼrift has at last,
Strutting and vap'ring in an empty school,
Spent all his force and made nó profelyte)-
I fay the pulpit (in the fober use

Of its legitimate, peculiar pow'rs)

Must stand acknowledg'd, while the world shall stand,

The most important and effectual guard,

Support, and ornament, of virtue's cause.

There ftands the meffenger of truth: there ftands

The legate of the fkies!-His theme divine,

His office facred, his credentials clear.

By him the violated law speaks out

Its thunders; and by him, in strains as sweet
As angels ufe, the gospel whispers peace.

He stablishes the strong, reftores the weak,
Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart,
And, arm'd himself in panoply complete
Of heav'nly temper, furnishes with arms,
Bright as his own, and trains, by ev'ry rule
Of holy difcipline, to glorious war,

The facramental hoft of God's elect!

Are all fuch teachers?-would to heav'n all were !
But hark-the doctor's voice!-faft wedg'd between
Two empirics he stands, and with swoln cheeks
Infpires the news, his trumpet. Keener far
Than all invective is his bold harangue,
While through that public organ of report
He hails the clergy; and, defying shame,
Announces to the world his own and their's!
He teaches those to read, whom schools difmifs'd,
And colleges, untaught; fells accent, tone,
And emphasis in score, and gives to pray'r
Th' adagio and andante it demands.

He grinds divinity of other days

Down into modern use; transforms old print
To zig-zag manuscript, and cheats the eyes

Of gail'ry critics by a thousand arts.

Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware?

Oh, name it not in Gath !-it cannot be,

That grave and learned clerks fhould need fuch aid.
He doubtless is in fport, and does but droll,
Affuming thus a rank unknown before-
Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church!

I venerate the man whose heart is warm, Whofe hands are pure, whofe doctrine and whose life, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof

That he is honeft in the facred caufe.

To fuch I render more than mere respect,

Whose actions say that they respect themselves.
But, loose in morals, and in manners vain,
In converfation frivolous, in dress

Extreme, at once repacious and profufe;
Frequent in park with lady at his fide,
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes;
But rare at home, and never at his books,
Or with his pen, fave when he fcrawls a card;
Conftant at routs, familiar with a round
Of ladyships-a stranger to the poor ;
Ambitious of preferment for its gold,
And well-prepar'd, by ignorance and floth,
By infidelity and love of world,

To make God's work a finecure; a slave
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride:
From fuch apostles, oh, ye mitred heads,
Preferve the church! and lay not careless hands
On fculls that cannot teach, and will not learn.

Would I defcribe a preacher, fuch as Paul, Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and ownPaul fhould himself direct me. I would trace His mafter-strokes, and draw from his design. I would express him fimple, grave, fincere ; In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, And plain in ananner; decent, folemn, chaste, And natural in gesture; much imprefs'd Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too; affectionate in look,

And tender in address, as well becomes

A messenger of grace to guilty men.

Behold the picture !-Is it like ?-Like whom?
The things that mount the roftrum with a skip,
And then skip down again; pronounce a text;
Cry-hem; and, reading what they never wrote,
Juft fifteen minutes, huddle up their work,
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene!

In man or woman, but far moft in man, And most of all in man that minifters

And ferves the altar, in my foul I loath

All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.

What!-will a man play tricks, will he indulge
A filly fond conceit of his fair form,
And just proportion, fashionable mien,
And pretty face, in presence of his God?
Or will he feek to dazzle me with tropes,
As with the di'mond on his lily hand,
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes,
When I am hungry for the bread of life?
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and fhames
His noble office, and, instead of truth,
Difplaying his own beauty, ftarves his flock!
Therefore avaunt all attitude, and stare,
And ftart theatric, practis'd at the glass!
I feek divine fimplicity in him

Who handles things divine; and all befides,
Though learn'd with labour, and though much admir'd
By curious eyes and judgments ill-inform'd,
To me is odious as the nafal twang
Heard at conventicle, where worthy men,
Milled by custom, strain celestial themes