O Sextant of the meetinouse which sweeps
And dusts, or is supposed to! and makes fiers,
And lites the gas, and sumtimes leaves a screw loose,
In which case it smells orful—­wus than lampile;
And wrings the Bel and toles it, and sweeps paths;
And for these servaces gits $100 per annum;
Wich them that thinks deer let ’em try it;
Gittin up before starlite in all wethers, and
Kindlin fiers when the wether is as cold
As zero, and like as not green wood for kindlins,
(I wouldn’t be hierd to do it for no sum;)
But o Sextant there are one kermodity
Wuth more than gold which don’t cost nuthin;
Wuth more than anything except the Sole of man! 
I mean pewer Are, Sextant, I mean pewer Are! 
O it is plenty out o dores, so plenty it doant no
What on airth to do with itself, but flize about
Scatterin leaves and bloin off men’s hats;
In short its jest as free as Are out dores;
But O Sextant! in our church its scarce as piety,
Scarce as bankbills when ajunts beg for mishuns,
Which sum say is purty often, taint nuthin to me,
What I give aint nuthing to nobody; but O Sextant! 
You shet 500 men women and children
Speshily the latter, up in a tite place,
Sum has bad breths, none of em aint too sweet,
Sum is fevery, sum is scroflus, sum has bad teeth
And sum haint none, and sum aint over clean;
But evry one of em brethes in and out and in
Say 50 times a minnet, or 1 million and a half breths an hour;
Now how long will a church full of are last at that rate? 
I ask you; say fifteen minnets, and then what’s to be did? 
Why then they must brethe it all over agin,
And then agin and so on, till each has took it down
At least ten times and let it up agin, and what’s more,
The same individible doant have the privilege
Of brethin his own are and no one else,
Each one must take wotever comes to him. 
O Sextant! doant you know our lungs is belluses
To bio the fier of life and keep it from
Going out:  and how can bellusses blo without wind? 
And aint wind are?  I put it to your konshens,
Are is the same to us as milk to babies,
Or water is to fish, or pendlums to clox,
Or roots and airbs unto an Injun doctor,
Or little pills unto an omepath. 
Or Boze to girls.  Are is for us to brethe. 
What signifize who preaches ef I can’t brethe? 
What’s Pol?  What’s Pollus to sinners who are ded? 
Ded for want of breth!  Why Sextant when we dye
Its only coz we cant brethe no more—­that’s all. 
And now O Sextant! let me beg of you
To let a little are into our cherch
(Pewer are is sertin proper for the pews);
And dew it week days and on Sundys tew—­
It aint much trobble—­only make a hoal,
And then the are will come in of itself
(It loves to come in where it can git warm). 
And O how it will rouze the people up
And sperrit up the preacher, and stop garps
And yorns and fijits as effectool
As wind on the dry boans the Profit tels
Of.