|
Trouble
In The Amen
Corner
It was a stylish
congregation
You could see
they'd been
around
And they had the
best pipe
organ
Of any church in
town
But in the Amen
Corner
Sat aged Brother
Ira
And he insisted
every
Sunday
On singing in
the choir
His voice was
cracked and
broken
Age had touched
his vocal
cords
And sometimes he
would lag
behind
And maybe miss
some words
Well, the choir
stormed and
blustered
Brother Ira sang
too slow
And he sang the
tunes that were
in style
A hundred years
ago!
So at last the
storm cloud
burst
The church was
of one mind
That old Ira
stop his
singing
Or the choir
would resign.
A committee was
appointed,
A hand picked
three or four,
And they drove
their big fine
cars
Right up to
Ira's door
They found the
choir's great
trouble
In a shabby old
arm chair
And the summer's
golden
sunbeams
Shone on his
snow white
hair
He was singing,
“Rock Of Ages”,
In a crack’d
voice, soft and
low,
But the angels
understood
him
And that's all
he cared to
know.
Said they, “We're
here, dear
Brother,
With the Vestry’s
approbation
To discuss a
little matter
that
Affects the
congregation.
Now we don't
want no more
singin’,
Except for what
we've
bought,
The new ones are
all the
rage,
The old ones
stand for
naught.
And so we have
decided -
Are you listenin’,
Brother Ira?
-
You're gonna
have to stop
your singin’
For it's messin’
up the choir.”
The old man
raised his
head,
A sign that he
did hear,
And on his cheek
the three
men
Caught the
glitter of a
tear.
His feeble hands
pushed
back
The locks of
silky snow
And he answered
the
committee
In a voice both
soft and low.
“I've sung the
songs of
David
Almost eighty
years”, said
he
“They've been
my staff and
comfort
All along life's
dreary
way.
I'm sorry I
disturbed the
choir;
I guess I'm doin’
wrong
But when my
heart is filled
with
praise
Why, I can't
keep back a
song!
I wonder if
beyond the
tide
That's breakin’
at my feet,
In that far off
Heavenly
temple
where my Master
I shall
meet;
I wonder, when I
try to
sing
The songs which
God inspires,
If they'll kick
me out up
there
For singin’ in
the choir.”
A silence filled
the little
room
The old man
bowed his
head;
The committee
went on back to
town
But Ira was soon
dead.
Oh, the choir
missed him for a
while
But him they
soon
forgot
And a few church
members
Watched the
door
But the old man
entered
not.
Far away his
voice is
sweet
And he sings his
heart’s
desire
Where there are
no church
committees
And no
fashionable
choir.
-Author
Unknown
Slide
show of old
fashion
camp-meeting time
|
Home
|
Site
Menu|
Back
Reflections
of God's Love
Copyright
© All
rights reserved
Revised: June 16, 2010
|