An Indian, who lived at Muskingum, remote,
Was teazed by a parson to join his dear flock,
To throw off his blanket and put on a coat,
And of grace and religion to lay in a stock.
The Indian long slighted an offer so fair,
Preferring to preaching his fishing and fowling;
A sermon to him was a heart full of care,
And singing but little superior to howling.
At last by persuasion and constant harassing
Our Indian was brought to consent to be good;
He saw that the malice of Satan was pressing,
And the means to repel him not yet understood.
Of heaven, one day, when the parson was speaking,
And painting the beautiful things of the place,
The convert, who something substantial was seeking,
Rose up, and confessed he had doubts in the case.—
Said he, Master Minister, this place that you talk of,
Of things for the stomach, pray what has it got;
Has it liquors in plenty?—If so I'll soon walk off
And put myself down in the heavenly spot.
You fool (said the preacher) no liquors are there!
The place I'm describing is most like our meeting,
Good people, all singing, with preaching and prayer;
They live upon these without eating or drinking.
But the doors are all locked against folks that are wicked;
And you, I am fearful, will never get there:—
A life of Repentance must purchase the ticket,
And few of you, Indians, can buy it, I fear.
Farewell (said the Indian) I'm none of your mess;
On victuals, so airy, I faintish should feel,
I cannot consent to be lodged in a place
Where's there's nothing to eat and but little to steal.