Year: 1871

The POOR Player at the Gate.
| A few weeks ago, Geo. Holland, once a
very popular comedian, died old and poor,
leaving family unprovided for, in the CITY
of New York Members of the theatrical
profession set about the funeral arrange
ments, and Joe Jefferson, the most cele-
brated American actor, started after min
| ister He requested the services of one
Mr. Sabine (of the Episcopal persuasion }
| This godly individual declined-said he had
nothing against the dead man, but against
his profession, and referred Mr.. Joe j. to
"a little church around the corner" The
consequence was, great ado was made in
the Press-the ruling Pulpit nowadays
Holland had huge funeral, and through
testimonials Of various kinds, the family
were abundantly provided for. AT one of
these gatherings, the following verses were
read, and have had an immense circulation
not SO much for literary merit but as
pointing to wide rebuke to sectarian big
otry; that makes more of a mOckery OF
what is good in its theatrical displays of
Sundays, than the dramatic profession by
name attract to what may or may not be
bad during the remainder of the week. The
only thing we regret about this general re-
buke of individual cussedness is, that the
Rev. Pretender has made his name noted
an end he evidently had in view. We can
see him smile in his sleeve as 'childlike and
bland as the Heather Chinee,' as Jeffer-
son turned the corner Who ever heard
of him before? And now that lie has
shown his hand-but may the del take it:
Wisely good Uncle Toby said,


If here below, the right we do,
Twill neer be ask d of lis above,


What coat we wore, red, white or blue
At Heavens high chancery gracious deeds


Shall count before professions,


And humble virtues, clad in weeds,


Shall rank DER rich possessions.


So the poor players motley garb,


If truth and worth adorn it,


May pass unchallenged through the gate,


Tho churls and bigots scorn it,
The Lord of love, the worlds great Light,


Made Publicans his care,


And PhariseeS alone demurred


That such His gifts should share.
But still He held His gracious way,


Soothing the humbleSt mourner,
Nor ever bade one sinner seek


For comfort round the corner
The woman that in sin was ta'en,


Bowed down with guilt and shame,
Found pity in that breast divine


That knew no taint of blame.


The Pharisees all gathered round


To taunt, revile, and stone her,
He bade her go and sin no more;'


His mercy would atone her.


He raised from death the widows son,


Nor asked his trade, profession;
Enough for Him mothers faith


In His divine compassion.


He healed the palsied, halt, and blind,


Nor left one heart forlorner;


He never bade them 90 and find


A doctor-'rOund the corner
Some modern saints too dainty are


TO walk in paths like these;
They'd lock the gates of Heaven on woe,


If they but held the keys
The widows friend asks prayers DER him


From whom death's hand has torn her
The sanity man refers him to


The small church round the corner
What is there in the players art


Shall close the fount of love?
He who on earth plays well his part


May hope seat above.


The lessons he has wreathed with smiles,


The hearts his mirth made lighter
Shall plead like angels tongues for grace,


And make his record brighter!
And though not nedreStto the Throne,


Yet sure the lowliest born, or
The actor in the veriest barn,


May find in heav' n corner.


All honor to the little church,


And to its gracious pastor,


Who in his heart the lessons kept


Taught by his heavenly Master
And when this fleeting scene is past


To sinner, saint, and scOrner,
Let's hope we ALL may find, at last,


A bright home round the cornerl