Classic Poem

Down to the stream they flying go,
Right on the border stands the foe,
Stands the foe, and this threat they make,
Shibboleth say, or your head we'll take.

Up to his desk, the good man goes,
Down in the pews they sit, his foes,
Sit his foes, and this threat they make,
Shibboleth say, or your head we'll take.
Say Remember the Sabbath day,
In it ye neither shall work nor play,
Say it commences on Saturday night,
Just about early candle-light.
Or to make it a little surer still,
When the sun goes down behind the hill;
And if the sun sets at half-past four,
Close the shutters, and bar the door,
Tell the strangers your gates within,
That to do otherwise is a sin;
And at halfpast four on the following day,
Take out your knitting, and work or play,
For the Lord allows in his law sublime,
Twenty-four hours for holy time;
Thus you must speak our Shibboleth
Nothing daunted, the good man saith,
Ye must remember the Sabbath day,
In it ye neither shall work nor play,
Tell the strangers your gates within,
That to do otherwise is a sin;
But at twelve o'clock it begins, I'm sure,
Not on Saturday at half past four,
And at twelve o'clock at night it ends,
This is the fourth command, my friends.

Down sits the parson in his seat,
Up rise his enemies from the pit,
Off with his head, they wrathful say
How he abuses our Sabbath day.

Up comes another to take his place,
Heated and panting from the chase,
And again the foe, their menace make,
Shibboleth say, or your head we'll take.
Say that the Lord made bond and free,
Slavery's an evil, not sin per se ,
Slaves there have been from the first man's fall,
And a righteous God upholds it all.
This is the pass-word, speak it plain,
And the good man answers back again,
I know that the Lord made bond and free,
All of one blood, and cursed is he,
Saith a righteous God in his holy ire,
Who useth service, and gives no hire.

This man will never our Shibboleth say,
Thus cries the foe, as they eager lay
Their violent hands on the clerical crown,
He is not one of us — hew him down.

And again to the next in the sacred desk,
They look from below, and propound this text,
Say that we fell in Adam's fall,
And that in Adam, we sinned all,
Say that in him we all are dead,
Else you'll oblige us to take your head.

A moment they wait to hear the word,
But shout as soon as his voice is heard,
Oh, hear ye now what this rebel saith?
Sibboleth only — not Shibboleth.

Another cry in the stifled air,
Another head with its gory hair,
By the rolling stream, and another threat,
The dire assassins are making yet;

Shibboleth say, and the stream shall flow,
Right and left, as you onward go,
Sibboleth say, and your head shall fall
Right in the pass, as fell they all.
Say that our sins we must all forsake,
That the yoke of Christ we must willing take.
Our tongues from evil, we must refrain,
And from the alluring cup abstain;
But we have made an amendment fair,
And a due allowance here and there,
For such as have but a little grace,
Every one understands the case;
We who are young, in grace must grow,
But still in the ways of folly go,
We must have our pleasures, and perchance
Amuse ourselves in a little dance;
And we who are somewhat older grown,
Though our lips are the Lord's, and not your own,
Must now and then be allowed to speak,
Though our words be truly not over meek,
And should we happen to speak " in a hurry, "
Why surely the parson needn't worry,
Not even though we should blast his fame,
For the poor church-members are not to blame;
And though we are not inclined to drink
Of the sparkling cup, we're inclined to think
It will never answer to put it down,
The sale of the article in our town.
These things we willingly, freely tell,
That you may learn our Shibboleth well.
Thus do we all of our sins forsake,
And the yoke of Christ thus easy take.
For hath he not called the burden light ,
Shibboleth say, as we indite,
But " Be ye holy, " he calmly saith,
Brethren, this is my Sibboleth.

A sudden cry, and a sudden gleam
Of a glancing sword by the crimson stream,
And " Off with his head, " they vengeful cry,
He is an Ephraimite — let him die.
And quick dispatching with all their might,
Just as another one comes in sight.
Glad welcome give to the next who stands
With the " bread of life " in his pious hands.
In his pious hands, and they hear him through,
We believe it all, and so do you,
But this — it is not enough to say,
We must have it said in a particular way.
Say that the sinner can't repent,
Without the spirit is on him sent;
To the small word can't , have a due regard,
Else things will be apt to go very hard.
But the good man says: He can but won't ,
I know that my danger is imminent.
And they quick reply, We're sorry to make
Such a very small word as this, to take
Your head from your shoulders — thus — entire,
But you have incurred our holy ire;
The meaning of both is the same, 'tis true,
But such an excuse will never do,
'Tis a very important word, my friend,
You will please to perceive you are near your end.

*****

Forty-two thousand fell that day,
Forty-two thousand bodies lay,
Of the Ephraimites, in the narrow way,
That led to the running river;

Forty-two thousand more will fall,
For when they accept the " unanimous call "
They may be assured they have staked their all,
By the theological river.

For still to the crossing do they hie,
And still the " Shibboleth " eager try,
But stop in the narrow pass to die,
And go not over the river.