| |
| THEY ’VE got a bran new organ, Sue, | |
| For all their fuss and search; | |
| They ’ve done just as they said they ’d do, | |
| And fetched it into church. | |
| They ’re bound the critter shall be seen, | 5 |
| And on the preacher’s right, | |
| They ’ve hoisted up their new machine | |
| In everybody’s sight. | |
| They ’ve got a chorister and choir, | |
| Ag’in my voice and vote; | 10 |
| For it was never my desire | |
| To praise the Lord by note! | |
| |
| I ’ve been a sister good an’ true, | |
| For five an’ thirty year; | |
| I ’ve done what seemed my part to do, | 15 |
| An’ prayed my duty clear; | |
| I ’ve sung the hymns both slow and quick, | |
| Just as the preacher read; | |
| And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, | |
| I took the fork an’ led! | 20 |
| An’ now, their bold, new-fangled ways | |
| Is comin’ all about; | |
| And I, right in my latter days, | |
| Am fairly crowded out! | |
| |
| To-day, the preacher, good old dear, | 25 |
| With tears all in his eyes, | |
| Read—“I can read my title clear | |
| To mansions in the skies.”— | |
| I al’ays liked that blessèd hymn— | |
| I s’pose I al’ays will; | 30 |
| It somehow gratifies my whim, | |
| In good old Ortonville; | |
| But when that choir got up to sing, | |
| I couldn’t catch a word; | |
| They sung the most dog-gonedest thing | 35 |
| A body ever heard! | |
| |
| Some worldly chaps was standin’ near, | |
| An’ when I see them grin, | |
| I bid farewell to every fear, | |
| And boldly waded in. | 40 |
| I thought I ’d chase the tune along, | |
| An’ tried with all my might; | |
| But though my voice is good an’ strong, | |
| I couldn’t steer it right. | |
| When they was high, then I was low, | 45 |
| An’ also contra’wise; | |
| And I too fast, or they too slow, | |
| To “mansions in the skies.” | |
| |
| An’ after every verse, you know, | |
| They played a little tune; | 50 |
| I didn’t understand, an’ so | |
| I started in too soon. | |
| I pitched it purty middlin’ high, | |
| And fetched a lusty tone, | |
| But O, alas! I found that I | 55 |
| Was singin’ there alone! | |
| They laughed a little, I am told; | |
| But I had done my best; | |
| And not a wave of trouble rolled | |
| Across my peaceful breast. | 60 |
| |
| And Sister Brown,—I could but look,— | |
| She sits right front of me; | |
| She never was no singin’ book, | |
| An’ never went to be; | |
| But then she al’ays tried to do | 65 |
| The best she could, she said; | |
| She understood the time, right through, | |
| An’ kep’ it with her head; | |
| But when she tried this morn in’, O, | |
| I had to laugh, or cough! | 70 |
| It kep’ her head a bobbin’ so, | |
| It e’en a’most come off! | |
| |
| An’ Deacon Tubbs,—he all broke down, | |
| As one might well suppose; | |
| He took one look at Sister Brown, | 75 |
| And meekly scratched his nose. | |
| He looked his hymn-book through and through, | |
| And laid it on the seat, | |
| And then a pensive sigh he drew, | |
| And looked completely beat. | 80 |
| An’ when they took another bout, | |
| He didn’t even rise; | |
| But drawed his red bandanner out, | |
| An’ wiped his weepin’ eyes. | |
| |
| I ’ve been a sister, good an’ true, | 85 |
| For five an’ thirty year; | |
| I ’ve done what seemed my part to do, | |
| An’ prayed my duty clear; | |
| But death will stop my voice, I know, | |
| For he is on my track; | 90 |
| And some day I ’ll to meetin’ go, | |
| And nevermore come back. | |
| And when the folks get up to sing— | |
| Whene’er that time shall be— | |
| I do not want no patent thing | 95 |
| A squealin’ over me! | |
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