Salford Parsonage

Your pastor’s fame first got abroad
By his success on Culloden Road;
He filled the church so that the fold
No longer it the flock would hold.

But soon a larger church did rise,
With fine neat tower points to the skies;
When you o’erwhelmed with ruin dire
Did lose your parsonage by fire.

To his call with generous bounty
You built best parsonage in county,
But some good people in the town
At this idea they might frown.

Unless we made this correction:
The best in a rural section;
Your pastor he doth vigorous push,
He’s not afraid to enter bush.

And ’tis a fact there’s very few
With him can stick of timber hew;
Ready for to superintend,
Or a helping hand to lend.

When bold man’s wanted at the front,
You’ve but to call on Reverend Hunt;
In pulpit he conviction darts,
And points the way to troubled hearts.

But solemn thoughts we won’t employ,
As this is all a scene of joy;
Maids and matrons all charming
Do grace this pleasant housewarming.

Here people come from near and far
To purchase goods at this bazar;
And all is happiness and glee
At festival of this soirée.