Great Jerusalem! can't I stir
Without a raisin' some feller's fur?
There ain't no privacy, so to say,
No more than if 'twas Judgment Day.
And as for meetin'-I want to swear
Whenever I put my head in there—
Why even Old Hundred's spiled and done,
Like everything else under the sun;
It used to be so solemn and slow,
Praise to the Lord from men below-
Now it goes like a gallopin' steer,
High diddle diddle! there and here.
No respect to the Lord above,
No more'n ef he was hand and glove
With all the creturs he ever made,
And all the jigs that ever was played.
Preachin' too-but here I'm dumb.
But I tell you what! I'd like it some
Ef good old Parson Nathan Strong
Out o' his grave would come along,
An' give us a stirrin' taste o' fire-
Judgment an' justice is my desire.
"Tain't all love and sickish sweet
That makes this world nor 'tother complete.
But law! I'm old! I'd better be dead
When the world's a turpin' over my head;
Sperits talkin' like 'tarnal fools,
Bibles kicked out o' deestrict schools,
Crazy creturs a murderin' round
Honest folks better be under the ground.
So fare-ye-well! this airthly scene
Won't be no more pestered by Widder Green.”