THE HIRED PASTOR.
By T. R. Burnett

I am a hired pastor,
And ride the modern hob,
I preach for stated salary,
And stay upon the job.

I set aside the bishops,
And leave them in the lurch,
What use is there for elders,
When I preach TO THE CHURCH?

The Lord said, "GO ye therefore,"
That was the olden way,
But by my new translation
It simply means TO STAY!

Paul once said to the elders,
(My little soul to shock!)
Down there at old Miletus,
That they should "feed the flock."

But Paul was an old fogy,
Way back in eastern clime,
And did not know the customs
Of this great modern time.

You now must have a preacher,
(Please shout that long and loud!)
In all the towns and cities,
Or you can't draw the crowd.

The Baptists have a pastor,
The smartest in the land,
Digressives have an organ,
And play to beat the band.

If you don't ape the fashions,
You very soon will find
That all the sects and parties
Have left you far behind.

You need not hurt your conscience
With an un-Bible name,
Just call him your EVANGELIST,
I'll PASTOR just the same!

When I was young and greener,
I worked by the old plan,
I knew the word evangelist
Then meant a traveling man.

I went forth with my message,
God's power to save from sin,
I SOUNDED OUT the gospel,
But now I sound it IN!

To keep the church converted
, And free from every fear,
I draw a handsome salary,
One thousand plunks a year!

Farewell, ye old bush arbors,
Ye once had your reward,
Beneath your kindly shelter
I used to "trust the Lord."

But God is now insolvent,
In city, town, and ville,
A church goes his security
For my big gospel bill!

Ho, all LOCATED preachers,
(That sound a bit absurd!)
We'll show those old apostles
How we SOUND IN the word!

Good-by, ye Bible model,
Farewell, ye ancient plea,
Sing loud, ye hired preacher,
"Nearer, my JOB, to thee!"

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