Nor have the wit to keep him on the talk P
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Tis kind of parson to be troubling still With such as me; but he’s a town-bred chap,Full of his college notions and Christmas hymns. Religion beats me. I’m amazed at folkDrinking the gospels in and never scratchingTheir heads for questions. When I was a ladI learned a bit from mother, and never thoughtTo educate myself for prayers and psalms. But now I’m old and bald and serious-minded,With days to sit and ponder. I’d no chance
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