Page:Memoir of the Reverend David Wilson (1).pdf/23

 They are my sordid slaves I wot; My drudges, though they know it not: They act to me a kindly part, With little kindness in their heart.

They sweep my outer-house when foul, Yea, wash my inner filth of soul: They help to purge away my blot, For Moab is my washing pot.

''Hitherto the character of the Secession, both as to the intelligence and faithfulness of its ministers, and as to the piety of its members, has been very fair: and we would fondly hope, that the sons, who are rising up to occupy tkethe [sic] places which their sires are leaving vacant, instead of tarnishing her reputation, will rather raise it to a higher pitch. Let not the present generation disgrace the memory of their pious ancestors ——The world and the church look to them with an expecting eye. Each individual amongst them, both ministers and people, should''