THE OLD MAN IN THE MODEL CHURCH.
By Sel.
Well wife, I've found the model church! I worshiped there to-day! It made me think of good old times before my hairs were gray; The meetin' house was fixed up more than they were years ago, But then I felt when I went in it wasn't built for show. The sexton didn't seat me away back by the door: He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and poor; He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly through The long aisle of that crowded church to find a pleasant pew. I wish you'd heard the singin'; it had the old-time ring; The preacher said with trumpet voice, “Let all the people sing!” The tune was Coronation, and the music upward rolled Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold. My deafness seemed to melt away; my spirit caught the fire; I joined my feeble, trembling voice with that melodious choir, And sang as in my youthful days, “Let angels prostrate fall; Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown him Lord of all.” I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more; I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore; I almost wanted to lay down this weather-beaten form, And anchor in the blessed port, forever from the storm. The preachin'? Well, I can't just tell all that the preacher said; I know it wasn't written; I know it wasn't read; He hadn't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye Went flashing 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by. The sermon wasn't flowery; 'twas simple gospel truth; It fitted poor old men like me; it fitted hopeful youth; 'Twas full of consolation, for weary hearts that bleed; 'Twas full of invitations to Christ, and not to creed. The preacher made sin hideous in Gentiles and in Jews; He shot the golden sentences down in the finest pews, And—though I can't see very well—I saw the fallin' tear That told me hell was some ways off, and Heaven very near. How swift the golden moments fled, within that holy place; How brightly beamed the light of Heaven from every happy face; Again I longed for that sweet time, when friend shall meet with friend, “When congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbath has no end.” I hope to meet that minister—that congregation too— In the dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's blue; I doubt not I'll remember, beyond life's evening gray, The happy hour of worship in that model church to-day. Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought—the victory be won; The shinin' goal is just ahead; the race is nearly run; O'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the shore To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more.