THE MODERN CHURCH

Well, wife, I've seen the modern church, they worshiped there today;
Unlike the time when Christ the Lord--washed all my sins away;
I tell you, wife, it made me sad--to think that Truth and Grace,
Had touched no heart to humble pride--or to make one solemn face.

The people did not seem to note my presence as I sat,
Behind a peck of flowers sewed upon a lady's hat.
I could not see the preacher, as I then could only stare.
Before me at a "Crew Cut" of faded soft brown hair.

The preacher's voice came to my ear, in accents mild and meek;
"We'll now be favored with a song by Miss Samantha Cheek".
I could not catch a word she said, she only sang for show,
"Mi fa, Mi re, Mi la, Mi sol, Mi fa, Sol, mi, Re do."

The people did not sing at all--the Choir had wondrous nerve,
And sang as fast as "Casey's Train", a flying 'round a curve.
Nor did the people bow and pray--they sat still in their pride,
I wondered if they ever heard that Christ was crucified.

It was a flowery sermon, wife, a masterpiece well read,
Unsuited to the sons of toil, who earn their daily bread.
His language had the ease and grace of the ocean's ebb and flow;
But side stepped sin, lest he should step, on some old deacon's toe.

The old Church Creed is solid, wife, her doctrines all are sound,
We've followed them, and oft have placed our feet on higher ground.
But if our Sainted Wesley should awaken from his trance,
He'd find church members old and young, attend the social dance.


-Walter C. Harris