Watercolor Christmas Painting
The Little Church
With mother in the family pew and fumbled with my hat
The straight-backed pews, the pulpit high, the women and the men
Who closed their eyes when prayers were said and never looked about
That little church of Long Ago, it wasn’t grand to see,
But even as a little boy it meant a lot to me.
I hear his tenor voice once more the way I heard it when
The people fumbling for their coins, as glad as they could be
With my two pennies in my fist that mother gave before
The minister is preaching in that good old-fashioned style;
The Bible was the text book in that church of Long Ago;
And even now I seem to see the people gravely nod,As though agreeing thoroughly with all he had to say,
And then I see them thanking him before they go away.
It had no hired singers or no other subterfuge
Where every Sunday we were told about God’s saving grace;
The only worldly thing it had–a mortgage hard to lift.
And somehow, dreaming here to-day, I wish that I could know
The joy of once more sitting in that church of Long Ago.
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