Classic Poem

This preacher I speak uv his name wur Payne,

An he wur a hustler, you bet ;
To see him preach would do you good ;

He 'd holler, and jump and sweat,
An pound the bible and preach away

So furious, fast and free,
Till he 'd raise the roof of the Mefedus church

With the shout, ' Salvation's free !'

He had converted all the bums

Around the mills but one,
An thet wus Old Man Wilson's Jim

A reglar son uv a gun !
An he could lick his size and weight

A powful sort of clown
You could n't say this loafer drank :

He simply poured it down !

One night this Jim got bilin drunk,

An kem to church thet way ;
An raised a row ez Payne got down

Upon his knees to pray.
The preacher sed, ' In vain, my friends,

I 've tried to save this man ;
O, pray thet I have strength, fur now

I 'll try another plan.

An then he peeled off coat and vest,
An went fur that thur Jim,

An thumped him on the nose and made

A holy show uv him.
He jammed him here, he lammed him there,

He slammed him every way ;
And then he knelt him down an sed,
My brethern, let us pray !'

An this here Jim began to cry,

An prayed with all his might,
An asked the Lord to make him clean

An spotless in His sight ;
An ever since this Jim hez been

Ez good ez he kin be,
Fur thet was he who raised the hymn,
I 'm glad salvation's free.'