More Methodist Madness

Okay, here's another one . . . a series of limericks.

The Methodist Limerick

There once was a man named John
Who was short, and sallow, and wan.
He was Wesley by birth
But of considerable girth
When he sat on his horse and rode on.

His brother Charlie wrote hymns
And his mother, Susanna, birthed hims
And each boy grew up
With an Englishman’s cup
And a head full of Latin verb-ends.

Both boys went to Oxford to learn
And both became priests by a turn
And they started a group
Filled with Methodist soup
And their hearts then started to burn.

Revival broke out in the church
And John used his dad as a perch
When he spoke from his grave
In hopes some would be saved
For he was never left in the lurch.

And that’s how it was, my friend,
With two brothers who knew how to send,
And the movement came near
And that’s why we’re here,
But it’s just the beginning, not end.