Thou shalt _not_ steal!
At least,--ahem!--well, all must feel
That property in thoughts and phrases,
The verbal filagree that raises
Flat fustian into "oratory,"
And makes the pulpit place of glory,
Such property is not so easy
To settle, and a conscience queasy
O'er picking pockets, oft remains
Quite unperturbed while--_picking brains!_
A Sermon is not minted coin;
It you may borrow, buy, purloin,
In part or wholly, and yet preach it
As your own work. Who'll dare impeach it,
This innocent transaction? Not
Your "brethren," save, perchance, some hot
And ultra-honest (which means "rancorous")
Parsonic rival. "How cantankerous!"
The reverend Assembly shouts.
It mocks at scruples, flames at doubts,
Hints at the stern objector's animus,
In the prig's praises is unanimous.
Oh, Happy Cleric Land, where unity
Breeds such unquestioning community
Of property--in Sermons! True it
Strikes some as queer; but _they all do it_,
If one may trust advertisement,
And an Assembly's calm content
At what to the Lay mind seems robbery.
Steal? Nay! But do not raise a bobbery,
If hard-up preachers glean their shelves
And take the credit to themselves.
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