Let holiness upon thy front appear,
That all the people plainly may observe,
By the behaviour thou art wont to bear,
That thou dost a most holy Master serve.

Make thou the bells, that fringe thy robes around,
Where-e'er thou goest, make a pleasing noise,
That all may hear the Gospel's joyous sound,
And, in the words thou utterest, rejoice.

Make the pomegranates on thy sacred dress,
Like those of Aaron, shed a sweet perfume -
Make them the fragrance of good works express,
In ev'ry company, where thou shalt come.

Make thou thy conduct yield a grateful smell,
Make thou thy calling shine, as bright as day,
Make thou each word, thy lips shall utter, tell,
That thou dost Jesus Christ alone obey.

Thou, by thy calling, art a man of God,
And to thy Saviour's service dost belong:
That a King's servant shou'd appear abroad,
Like common menials, is absurdly wrong.

Thou art a herald from the King of heaven,
To teach his will unto the world, employ'd;
Let not a word, that to thy charge was given,
Through thy neglect, become unheard, and void.

Thou art a Shepherd, call'd the flock to keep,
Which Jesus, with his precious blood, did buy ;
Then starve not, through neglect, a single sheep,
Lest on thy head its blood shou'd heavy lie.

Righteous, with the sacred Urim, bear -
Bear knowledge, with the Thummim, on thy breast,
Deep in thy bosom, both those virtues wear :
It is the duty of each worthy Priest.

When once thy hand is put unto the plough,
Follow thy calling, and drive boldly on -
Nor, like a dog, back to thy vomit go :
The crown, by perseverance, must be won.

Because he, in the day of battle, fled,
Ephraim was long among the tribes disgrac'd;
So, from thy duty shou'dst thou now be led,
Worse will thy end be, than thy life-time pass'd.

Like James and Peter, to thy Saviour cleave,
Quitting thy bark, ere thou'rt of life bereft ;
The votaries of Christ this world must leave,
As Levi the receipt of custom left.

This world, and all its wealth, renounce with scorn,
Since for thy life thou startest on the course :
A load of earth, by either of them bor'n,
Will tire the strongest man, or fleetest horse.

Each cumb'ring passion and affection base,
With ev'ry sin that on thy conscience lies,
Fling-off, and strive in the celestial race
By patience to obtain the glorious prize.

Feed thou the flock of Christ with care and zeal,
Not like a press'd, or mercenary slave -
And then - when he his glory shall reveal -
Thou shalt a crown, and envy'd honours have.

Woe to the Pastor! who does nothing say,
Nor spreads the Christian doctrines - at his hands
The blood of thousands shall be sought that day,
When he, at God's tribunal, trembling stands.

Three sev'ral ways, thou shou'dst Christ's lambkins feed,
And keep them from the fatal fiend, despair,
1. By the pure Gospel, whensoe'er they need -
2. By good example, and 3. by ardent pray'r.

Better than angels, are all Priests of worth,
The bad, are worse than the infernal host -
The good, to realms of light will lead us forth -
The bad, will let us all be wholly lost.

Dress thou thy vineyard, 'twill large clusters give -
Sow thou thy land, green blades will clothe the field,
Feed well thy flock, and it amain will thrive -
Instruct thy Parish - it will virtue yield.

Your flocks, ye Pastors! with good precepts teach,
And into Canaan, through the desert, lead:
In vain shall Doctors wholesome doctrines preach,
Unless their lives and language be agreed.

Be gentle to your tender flocks - but raise,
Whene'er the wolves approach, a'larming cry :
The flocks, by gentle language cheer'd, will graze -
The wolves, discourag'd by your shouts, will fly.

Indulge the sportive lambkins with the teat,
But check the rams' perverseness with the crook -
Be mild unto the guileless folk, but treat
With sternness those that won't good doctrine brook.

Still in your hands your proper weapons weild,
As erst the Jews, when Sion's walls they rear'd,
A trowel - the grand edifice to build -
A sword, your people from their foes to guard.

Let each of you, his charge with manna feed,
And to the verdant pastures often call:
Shou'd any of them chance to die for need,
Their blood shall on the heedless shepherd fall.

Drive home each straggler, at the close of day,
And fold, at night, the bleating pris'ners all -
Permit not one, to lag behind, or stray :
God each bad shepherd to account will call!

You are the lamps, shou'd make the church of God,
And all your congregations, shine full bright -
O, let your lives, like torches, blaze abroad,
That men may walk in the refulgent light!

The lamp, its oil and wick does freely spend,
To light each true believer with its rays:
Do you your lives in that employment end,
That your parishioners may see the blaze.

You are the salt, to season ev'ry soul,
And to preserve them, from corruption, sweet -
Then season all, who in their vices roll,
Lest Christ shou'd trample you beneath his feet.

It is a shocking sight to see a sheep
Mangled within the wolf's blood-reeking jaws,
But one far worse to see a sinner weep,
(Thro' lack of knowledge) in the devil's paws.

'Tis bad, to see a field of ripen'd grain
Unreap'd, for want of hands sufficient, lie:
But worse, to see men's souls untaught remain,
For want of pastors, and by thousands die.

'Tis sad, to see a child upon the coals
(Only for want of due assistance) fry! -
But worse in hell, to see unnumber'd souls;
Because no Priest did timely aid supply.

Themselves, into a pool, to see men throw,
(For want of good advice) is very sad!
But worse, alas! to see a million go
To hell - because they no instruction had.

The herald of the morn first claps his wings,
And wakes himself, before he wakes each spouse;
So ought the herald of the King of kings,
To rouse himself, ere he his flock does rouse.

As Aaron's rod, leaves, flow'rs, and almonds bore;
(To shew how much he was preferr'd by God)
But neither leaf, nor fruit, nor blooming flow'r,
Did once appear on any other rod.

So ought the Clergy, each in his degree,
With ev'ry virtue largely to abound,
Although the rest, whate'er their callings be,
Shou'd, without virtue, all their lives be found.

How can the blind, with safety lead the blind?
How can the dumb, at the grim wolf e'er growl?
How can the barren, any milk e'er find,
To nurse a child, or feed a famish'd soul?

The dog's worth nothing - that is still asleep ---
And the bad servant - that is idle still -
And the spoil'd salt - that can't its favour keep,
And the vile shepherd - who his sheep does kill.

A horse, may a good stallion prove, when blind -
A fallen proof, may to the fire be thrown -
Some use, one for a broken pot may find -
But nought can, with an idle priest, be done.

Who'll put the blind, to guide those without eyes?
Who'll put the mute, to chide the wolf away?
Who'll put a fool, the foolish to advise?
Who'll put a dunce, to share an army's pay?

The sightless, on a tow'r - the foe to see -
The stupid - to instruct a stupid race -
Th' unskillful steersman, to the helm, at sea,
By man are plac'd - God such did never place.

If thou art learn'd - th' unlearn'd instruct with care,
If a good shepherd - guide thy flock with skill -
If a wise steward - give to each his share,
If a true Christian, do thy Master's will.

If thou'rt a faithful dog, the thief oppose -
If thou'rt an angler - labour men to catch,
If thou'rt a watchman, guard against thy foes,
And tell, in time, what happens in thy watch.

Where no seeds cast, nought thence can e'er be mown,
And where no trumpets sound, no armies move,
From sheep unfed, no profit e'er was known,
Where no one's taught, none ever can improve.

If thou'rt a vine-dresser, thy vineyard till,
And from the plants prune ev'ry useless shoot,
Their roots, their trunks, their branches, dress with skill,
Lest they shou'd all be fell'd, for want of fruit.

If any love, O Peter! warms thy breast
For Christ, thy Saviour, and sincerest friend,
Let it be to his tender flock exprest,
Feed well his lambs, and them from wolves defend.

Let not his sheep in the wild desert stray,
Let not the forest beasts his younglings kill,
Let not diseases on their bodies prey,
For want of proper physic, care, and skill.

Ye pastors all, whatever your degree,
Shine, like the stars upon a frosty night,
But be not like the moon, whose orb we see
Yield, when o'erspread with spots, a fainter light.

Make your voice ring, throughout the church, aloud,
So angels praise the Lord in paradise!
Make yourselves known above the vulgar crowd,
And shine, like stars, when they illume the skies.

Happy the Priest, who in his pulpit dies,
As he the Gospel to his flock displays,
Or in the temple, on his bended knees,
As for the people he devoutly prays.

The cloudy pillar, let each Pastor be,
Or that of fire - the narrow path to show,
How all (from their Egyptian bondage free)
May to the heav'nly Canaan safely go.

O! with what conscience can a shepherd shear
The flock, he never fed? nor be asham'd
To eat the off'ring without any fear,
Though, against vice, he never has exclaim'd!

Ah me! how many a moan, and piteous plaint,
Shall thousands make when they to doom are brought,
Who now, for lack of good instruction, faint,
Soul-starv'd, and ruin'd thro' their Pastor's fault?