midnight
`` These hairs were brown , when , full of hope , ent ` ring these holy lists , Proud of my Order as a knight -- the shouting Methodists -- I made the pine woods ring with hymns , with prayer the night-winds shook , And preached from Assawaman Light far north as Bombay Hook . `` My nag was gray , my gig was new ; fast went the sandy miles ; The eldest Trustees gave me praise , the fairest sisters smiles ; Still I recall how Elder Smith of Worten Heights averred . My Apostolic Parallels the best he ever heard . `` All winter long I rode the snows , rejoicing on my way ; At midnight our revival hymns rolled o'er the sobbing bay ; Three Sabbath sermons , every week , should tire a man of brass -- And still our fervent membership must have their extra class ! `` Aggressive with the zeal of youth , in many a warm requite I terrified Immersionists , and scourged the Millerite ; But larger , tenderer charities such vain debates supplant , When the dear wife , saved by my zeal , loved the Itinerant . `` No cooing dove of storms afeard , she shared my life 's distress , A singing Miriam , alway , in God 's poor wilderness ; The wretched at her footstep smiled , the frivolous were still ; A bright path marked her pilgrimage , from Blackbird to Snowhill . `` A new face in the parsonage , at church a double pride !