faintling

Strong, strong, ever on, Strong in our hope increasing; Heed not the faintling's fall, Nor eyes that on ye look coldly.

The modem preacher takes a few tablets of the doctrine of Christ, dissolves them in a gallon or two of sentimental rose water, puts a little of the solution in an atomizer, and sprays the congregation to the tune of “sweet spirited” Christianity and the fragrance of a benevolent life if, by evaporation, the solution becomes too strong he always has an abundance of pink tea handy to revive the faintlings who may have been overcome by too strong a dose.