The Model Church

The Model Church

Well, wife, I’ve found the model church – I

worshipped there today!

It made me think of good old times, before

my hair was 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 through

the long aisle of that crowded church, to find a place

and pew.

I wish you’d heard that 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 all striking their

harps of gold.

My deafness seemed to melt away; my spirit caught

the fire;

I joined my feeble, trembling voice, with that melo-

dious choir,

And sang as in my youthful days, “Let angels pros-

trate 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 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 flashin’ along from pew to pew, not 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 falling

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,

“Where congregations ne’er break up, and Sabbaths

have no end.”

I hope to meet that minister – that congregation, too –

In that dear home beyond the stars that shine from

heaven’s blue.

I doubt not I’ll remember, beyond life’s evening

gray,

That happy hour of worship in that model church to-

day.

Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought, the victory

be won;

The shining 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 when the weary weep no

more.                                             John H. Yates