Hellfire & Reuben Rose
A hundred and thirty years has passed
Since Reuben strode our turf,
A Hell-fire Methodist Preacher
Cursing souls with every breath,
He claimed an exclusive license, sanctioned
By our gracious Lord,
To dispense both sulphur and brimstone
To the sinners of the world.
At Moonta, in the mining days,
When copper ruled as king,
A fluctuation in the price
Soon ruined everything.
Families left in droves; for jobs
Were harder then to find,
The congregations withered,
They were the few that stayed behind.
There wasn't enough to pay the fund
To keep their minister,
So he took off to Castlemaine
To save Victoria,
And when the Primitive Methodists
Declined to send another,
All Hell broke loose at the altar then,
Set brother against brother.
Enraged at the Executive
For showing them such contempt,
Half of the congregation said:
'We'll fix their argument!
We'll just secede from the Primitives
And run our own affairs.'
But Reuben Rose was a Primitive,
Who had his own ideas.
'Who owns the Church, ' he sagely said,
'The age-old Primitives! '
'Not so, ' declared the rebels, then,
'We paid for it with our tithes! '
But neither side would give an inch,
They claimed it, theirs alone,
Two armies of the Lord lined up
To seize the good lord's throne.
And so it was that, Sunday noon,
The rebels got there first,
They sang a lot of Sankey's hymns
To scorn the Primitive's verse,
They raised their voices mightily
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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