Then you have genuine religious utterance.

The conditions change and the thought is outworn: if the phrase that clothed the old thought remains and is used glibly as a verbal counter, then you have Cant, and the longer the phrase is parrotted by an unbeliever, the more venomous does the virus of cant become.

To the fishers--childlike men--many of the old Methodist turns of speech are vital; to a cultured man the husk of words may be dry and dead, but if he is clever and indulgent he will see the difference between his own mental state and that of the poor fisher to whom he listens.
The experiences were as varied as possible; some were awe-striking, some were pitiful, some verged on comedy.

The comfortable thing--the beautiful thing--about the confessions, was that each man seemed tacitly to imply a piteous prayer, "My brothers help me to keep near my Saviour.
I may fall unless you keep by me;" while the steady-going, earnest men took no praise to themselves for keeping straight, but generally ended with some such phrase as, "Praise the blessed Lord; it's all along o' His grace as I've been walkin' alongside o' Him." One fine man, with stolid, hard face, rose and steadied himself against a beam.

His full bass tones were sad, and he showed no sign of that self-satisfied smirk which sometimes makes the mind revolt against a convert.
"My friends, I'm no great speaker, but I can tell you plain how I come to be where I am.