Classic Poem

Religion and the Lower Classes

The bricklay'r throws his trowel by,
And now builds mansions in the sky;
The cobbler, touched with holy pride,
Flings his old shoes and last aside,
And now devoutly sets about
Cobbling of souls that ne'er wear out;
The baker, now a preacher grown,
Finds man lives not by bread alone,
And now his customers he feeds
With pray'rs, with sermons, groans and creeds;
The tinman, moved by warmth within,
Hammers the Gospel just like tin;
Weavers inspired their shuttles leave,
Sermons and flimsy hymns to weave;
Barbers unreaped will leave the chin,
To trim and shave the man within;
The waterman forgets his wherry,
And opens a celestial ferry;
The brewer, bit by frenzy's grub,
The mashing- for the preaching-tub
Resigns, those waters to explore
Which, if you drink, you thirst no more;
The gard'ner, weary of his trade,
Tired of the mattock and the spade,
Changed to Apollo's in a trice,
Waters the plants of Paradise;
The fishermen no longer set
For fish the meshes of their net,
But catch, like Peter, men of sin,
For catching is to take them in.