Classic Poem

E V'N exactors of the toll,
And the harlot of the stew,
Sooner give the Lord his due
Than men disguis'd of soul.

Matthew made the Lord a feast,
Wealth and business left behind,
Of his tribe, and of his kind,
Among the worst and least.

Yet he had an eye to God
Soon as Jesus Christ drew near,
And with meekness, faith, and fear,
He worship'd to his nod.

Humbl'd therefore by the shame
Of his worldly filth and guilt,
By his hand the Lord has built
A pillar to his name.

One for ev'ry point are four,
Matthew for an obvious praise,
His in Hebrew chose to raise,
That easterns might adore.

Of a meaner order, Mark,
As he would the north address,
Yet his word of God express
Illuminates the dark.

Luke diffusive takes a sweep,
Rising to command the west,
And by Jesus Christ is blest,
Historic high and deep.

John, above the rest divine,
In the church her southern isle,
Stands of plain majestic stile,
Where warmth and brightness join.

These combin'd the church sustain,
But this day assigns to thee,
Matthew, rather than the three,
The heav'n directed strain.

Sure the mother-tongue is great,
Since it is what seraphs use;
Since with that the cherub woos
To mutual praise his mate.