THE MINISTER'S WIFE

She's little and modest and purty, As red as a rose and as sweet; Her children do n't ever look dirty, Her kitchen ai n't no way but neat.

She's the kind of a woman ter cherish, A help ter a feller through life, Yet every old hen in the parish Is down on the minister's wife.

‘ Twas Mrs.‘ Lige Hawkins begun it; She always has had the idee That the church was built so's she could run it, ‘ Cause Hawkins is deacon, yer see;

She thought that the whole congregation Kept step ter the tune of her fife, But she found‘ t was a wrong calkerlation Applied ter the minister's wife.

Then Mrs. Jedge Jenks got excited — She thinks she's the whole upper crust;— When she found the Smiths was invited Ter meet'n’, she quit in disgust.

“You can have all the paupers yer choose to,” Says she, jest as sharp as a knife; “But if they go ter church I refuse to!” “Good-by!” says the minister's wife.

And then Mrs. Jackson got stuffy At her not comin’ sooner ter call, And old Miss Macgregor is huffy ‘ Cause she went up ter Jackson's at all.

Each one of the crowd hates the other, The church has been full of their strife; But now they're all hatin’ another, And that one's the minister's wife.

But still, all their cackle unheedin’, She goes, in her ladylike way, A-givin’ the poor what they're needing And helpin’ the church every day:

Our numbers each Sunday is swelling And real, true religion is rife, And sometimes I feel like a-yellin’, “Three cheers fer the minister's wife!”