Francis Asbury Leaves His Mark
The first American bishop
Was a guy named Francis (no joke)
And he rode through brute force
On his broken down horse
And left in his wake a brown smoke.
Now most folks don’t think of it now
But the frontier was littered with trees
And wherever he rode
He made a commode
And would mark every place where he peed.
It’s true the kingdom comes
In various and sundry ways
Sometimes strange, of course,
Or on back of a horse,
But always with human bouquets.
And today in each village and town
Wherever a steeple is sought
There’s a very good chance
Francis Asbury danced
On that ground where X marked his spot.