POET of the Pulpit, whose full-chorded lyre <br />Startles the churches from their slumbers late, <br />Discoursing music, mixed with lofty ire <br />At wrangling factions in the restless state, <br />Till tingles with thy note each listening ear,— <br />Then household charities by the friendly fire <br />Of home, soothe all to fellowship and good cheer! <br />No sin escapes thy fervent eloquence, <br />Yet, touching with compassion the true word, <br />Thou leavest the trembling culprit’s dark offence <br />To the mediation of his gracious Lord. <br />To noble thought and deep dost thou dispense <br />Due meed of praise, strict in thy just award. <br />Can other pulpits with this preacher cope? <br />I glory in thy genius, and take hope!<br /><br />Amos Bronson Alcott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bartol/
