There smiled the smooth Divine, unused to wound <br />The sinner's heart with hell's alarming sound. <br />No terrors on his gentle tongue attend; <br />No grating truths the nicest ear offend. <br />That strange new-birth, that methodistic grace, <br />Nor in his heart nor sermons found a place. <br />Plato's fine tales he clumsily retold, <br />Trite, fireside, moral seesaws, dull as old,- <br />His Christ and Bible placed at good remove, <br />Guild hell-deserving, and forgiving love. <br />'Twas best, he said, mankind should cease to sin: <br />Good fame required it; so did peace within. <br />Their honors, well he knew, would ne'er be driven; <br />But hoped they still would please to go to heaven. <br />Each week he paid his visitation dues; <br />Coaxed, jested, laughed; rehearsed the private news; <br />Smoked with each goody, thought her cheese excelled; <br />Her pipe he lighted, and her baby held. <br />Or placed in some great town, with lacquered shoes, <br />Trim wig, and trimmer gown, and glistening hose, <br />He bowed, talked politics, learned manners mild, <br />Most meekly questioned, and most smoothly smiled; <br />At rich men's jests laughed loud, their stories praised, <br />Their wives' new patterns gazed, and gazed, and gazed; <br />Most daintly on pampered turkeys dined, <br />Nor shrunk with fasting, nor with study pined: <br />Yet from their churches saw his brethern driven, <br />Who thundered truth, and spoke the voice of heaven, <br />Chilled trembling guilt in Satan's headlong path, <br />Charmed the feet back, and roused the ear of death. <br />'Let fools,' he cried, 'starve on, while prudent I <br />Snug in my nest shall live, and snug shall die.'<br /><br />Timothy Dwight<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-smooth-divine/
