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Salford Parsonage

Lines delivered at housewarming of Salford Parsonage.

Your pastor's fame first got abroad
By his success on Culloden Road ;
He filled the church so that the fold
No longer it the flock would hold.
But soon a larger church did rise,
With fine neat tower points to the skies;
When you o'erwhelmed with ruin dire
Did lose your parsonage by fire.

To his call with generous bounty
You built best parsonage in county,
But some good people in the town
At this idea they might frown.
Unless we made this correction :
The best in a rural section ;
Your pastor he doth vigorous push,
He's not afraid to enter bush.

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poem by James McIntyre
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Two weddings and no funeral

The first time I wed
it was in Parrow church
since it was bigger
than the one in Belville.

The church was packed
and I waited
while the golden metallic Mercedes
drove a couple of times
around the church.

My heart skipped a beat
when you entered
dressed in white
and to this day
your beauty still baffles me.

I was at my nerves edge
and so were you,
but we did fine

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poem by Gert Strydom
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I was reared in the conservative atmosphere of a Methodist parsonage.

quote by Countee Cullen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lines on Salford

Read at the opening of the New Parsonage.

Some do boast of their pedigrees,
But Salfords parent of the cheese;
Rennie, industrious and wise,
Here started this great enterprise ;
He did work on the dairy plan,
While Farrington was factoryman.

poem by James McIntyre
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Abundant Harvest

The following was composed and read at a gathering in the new
Parsonage, Salford, in the fall, 1883.

The farmers are in cheerful mood,
For harvest all it hath been good;
And all the grain was sown this spring
An abundant yield will bring.

And you can scarcely stow away.
The yield of barley, oats and hay ;
Such pasture it is seldom seen,
E'en now it is so fresh and green.

This beauteous color nature decks
While it insures you large milk checques [sic],
And certes you've much cause to praise
For hogs and cattle that you raise.

poem by James McIntyre
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On Simony

Saw'st thou ever Siquis patcht on Pauls Church door
To seek some vacant vicarage before?
Who wants a churchman that can service say,
Read fast and fair his monthly homily?
And wed and bury and make Christen-souls?
Come to the left-side alley of St. Paules.
Thou servile fool, why could'st thou not repair
To buy a benefice at Steeple-Fair?
There moughtest thou, for but a slendid price,
Advowson thee with some fat benefice:
Or if thee list not wait for dead mens shoon,
Nor pray each morn the incumbents days were doone:
A thousand patrons thither ready bring,
Their new-fall'n churches, to the chaffering;
Stake three years stipend: no man asketh more.
Go, take possession of the Church porch door,
And ring thy bells; luck stroken in thy fist
The parsonage is thine, or ere thou wist.
Saint Fool's of Gotam mought thy parish be
For this thy base and servile Simony.

poem by Joseph Hall
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Time to Lose.

She was there
in the church
arranging the flowers

at the altar end
where her mother said
she'd be when you knock

at the parsonage door
some moments back
and you entered

through the old oak door
into the silence
and smell of age and flowers

seeing her
in her summer dress
unaware you stood there

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poem by Terry Collett
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The Drying of Hair.

Jane's mother gave you both
a towel from the airing cupboard

after you had been caught
in the rain

running from the church porch
to the parsonage

and then she went off
to carry on

with her pie making
and Jane took you

along the hallway
to her bedroom

and opened the door
and after you had entered

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poem by Terry Collett
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As You Walked One Summer's Day.

These lanes are very narrow
you said
walking with Jane

from the parsonage
where she lived
to where the farm road began

Are they?
she replied
I've never thought about it

just that the hedges are high
and the birds chock full
in them and their songs

Yes
you said
They are

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poem by Terry Collett
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The Reverend Simon Magus

A rich advowson, highly prized,
For private sale was advertised;
And many a parson made a bid;
The REVEREND SIMON MAGUS did.

He sought the agent's: "Agent, I
Have come prepared at once to buy
(If your demand is not too big)
The Cure of Otium-cum-Digge."

"Ah!" said the agent, "THERE'S a berth -
The snuggest vicarage on earth;
No sort of duty (so I hear),
And fifteen hundred pounds a year!

"If on the price we should agree,
The living soon will vacant be;
The good incumbent's ninety five,
And cannot very long survive.

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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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