Classic Poem

We're off for the village church today—Mother an' Moll an' me,
Come fr'm th' city, a hundred miles, to go, especially.
Been goin' to brownstone gospel shops, imposin' an' grand an' swell,
But I don't feel that hankerin' there for heaven or that proper fear o' hell
That I allus did in th' little church in th' village we used to 'tend,
Where th' green woodbine an' th' ivy twine, an' the songbirds' voices blend
With th' village choir, an' the gospel hymns rang out on th' summer air,
An' th' Lord sort o' seemed to come right down an' sit among us there.

Off for th' village church today—there's a tear in Mother's eye,
An' another one in my own, I guess, but I couldn't tell ye why;
Mebbe it's 'cause we was married there, so many years ago,
An' our boy lies there in his grave, asleep, an' th' music seems to flow
Out through the vine-clad window in a sort o' lullaby,
As th' breath o' God might kiss th' sod where the souls all sleeping lie.
Th' air's so still an' the sweet hymns fill our hearts with peace today,
An' th' Lord sort o' seems to come right down an' kiss our tears away.

There's a somethin' grand 'bout the village church—I can't jes' tell ye why,
But ye seem to get right close to God, an' ye stand there silently,
Breathin' a prayer so earnest like, yer eyes all blurred an' dim,
As though He was standin' there an' ye was whisperin' to Him.
An' th' little organ's mellow tones, an' th' music seems so grand,
Because it tells a tale of love that yer heart can understand,
An' yer heart feels warm with love that ye want the world to know an' share,
An' th' Lord sort o' seems to come right down and sit among us there.

I got to live in th' city, 'cause I got my int'rests there,
But Mother an' me, when we come to die, are both a-goin' to share
A lot in the village churchyard, where our lost boy lies asleep;
An' though our lives is happy, sometimes we sit an' weep,
An' sort o' yearn for th' time to come when th' Lord's own lullaby
Floats through th' vine-clad window above us as we lie;
When our boy shall wake and we shall take his hand at th' Judgment day,
Rise from th' sod, in th' steps o' God—we three—an' go away.