Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ADVICE TO THE REVERENDS ON THEIR PREACHING SLOWLY, by JOHN BYROM


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ADVICE TO THE REVERENDS ON THEIR PREACHING SLOWLY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Brethren, this comes to let you know
Last Line: Will soon fill up their proper places.
Subject(s): Advice; Preaching & Preachers


Brethren, this comes to let you know
That I would have you to preach slow;
To give the words of a discourse
Their proper time, and life, and force;
To urge what you think fit to say
In a sedate, pathetic way,
Grave and delib'rate,—as 'tis fit
To comment upon Holy Writ.

Many a good sermon gives distaste,
By being spoke in too much haste;
Which, had it been pronounc'd with leisure,
Would have been listen'd to with pleasure;
And thus the preacher often gains
His labour only for his pains;
As, if you doubt it, may appear
From ev'ry Sunday in the year.

For how, indeed, can one expect
The best discourse should take effect,
Unless the maker thinks it worth
Some care and pains to set it forth?
What! does he think the pains he took
To write it fairly in a book,
Will do the bus'ness?—Not a bit:—
It must be spoke as well as writ.

What is a sermon, good or bad,
If a man reads it like a lad?
To hear some people when they preach
How they run o'er all parts of speech,
And neither raise a word nor sink,
Our learned bishops, one would think,
Had taken school boys from the rod
To make ambassadors for God.

So perfect is the Christian scheme,
He that from thence shall take his theme,
And time to have it understood,—
His sermon cannot but be good.
If he'll not cease from preaching stuff,
No time, indeed, is short enough;
E'en let him read it like a letter,
The sooner it is done the better.

But for a man that has a head,
(Like yours or mine, I'd almost said)
That can upon occasion raise
A just remark, a proper phrase,—
For such a one to run along,
Tumbling his accents o'er his tongue,
Shews only that a man at once
May be a scholar and a dunce.

In point of sermons, 'tis confess'd,
Our English Clergy make the best.
But this appears, we must confess,
Not from the pulpit, but the press.
They manage, with disjointed skill,
The matter well, the manner ill;
And, what seems paradox at first
They make the best and preach the worst.

Would they but speak as well as write,
Both excellences would unite;
The outward action being taught
To shew the strength of inward thought.
Now, to do this our short-hand school
Lays down this plain and gen'ral rule,
"Take time enough,"—all other graces
Will soon fill up their proper places.





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