POETRY.
BIRDS IN WINTER.
TO-DAY the feathered preachers sing, Amid the holly, And claim a tithe for all they bring ; And some are thin and poor and lean, And some, like pluralist or Dean, Are fat and jolly.
They talk as well as Asquith talks, Or Clarke, or Carson.
They walk as King or Emperor walks, They preach their sermons, clear and terse And musical—I've heard far worse From many a parson.
That fellow in the suit of black (A prim Dissenter), With lifted eyes and rigid back.
Is telling (you can hear him tell) His friends they're nearing fast the Hell They're doomed to enter.
The other, with an air polite (A. genial fellow), Is sure to rise : his style is quite The ton ; he'll never damn too loud The vices of the titled crowd. He's sleek and mellow.
One preaches true self-government (Like "'ell or Guiteau), And at Alms it was never meant That one should hold his fellows down. He little reeks of priestly frown, Or Bishop's veto.
They sit, like Doctors, and debate
The weightiest questions— Predestination, Will, and Fate—
The boundaries of wrong and right,
And, when they can't agree, they fight—
Like earnest Christians.
WILLIAM HOLLOWAY.
Previous page
