  “The fine new kirk is finished, wife—the old has had its day, ’Tis like ourselves, a trifle worn, and out of date, and gray. Stained windows and a tower high—I like not such a show, Beside the cost is something great, and money does not grow. Now when they come to me for help I’m going to tell them, plain, That since they’ve built to please themselves they’ll ask my help in vain.” Then sat the woman at his side: “’Tis meet God’s house should be As good a one as we can give,” she answered tenderly. “And we who’ve worshipped all the years in that old church so gray, Should go with songs, and thankful hearts, into the new to-day. For think of all the precious hours we have had over there— The hours of penitence and tears, the hours of peace and prayer. I went to-day to say good-bye, and as I stood alone, The memory of blessings shared came to me, one by one. I heard the message from the Word, the sermon good and wise, I heard the songs of love and hope ring clearly to the skies; And looking over to the pew we’ve worshipped in for years, I seemed to see so many things, to see them through my tears. I saw us sitting there when we were young, and glad, and strong, Ere we had learned that sorrow lends a sweetness to life’s song When every golden Sabbath day found us in love with life— The world was fair, and God was good, and we were man and wife. One pretty far off summer morn my dim eyes seemed to see, A morn when I sat by your side, our first-born on my knee; His fair head lay upon my arm, and rich was I, and proud, And then our other bonnie lads grew plain unto my eyes, And Belle—our lassie fair and good, our lassie sweet and wise. I felt again her little hand clasped tightly in my own— A mother holds her daughter dear, and I had but the one. My soft eyed one, my loving one, with braids of yellow hair— Ah me! I could not help but know the little one was fair. In the old church I thought upon our hour of grief and pain, Of loneliness—she went away and came not back again— When broken-hearted ’neath the loss we bowed beneath the rod, There, close about us in that hour, we felt the arm of God. I saw us older grown and bent, each tall son in his place, I saw the minister who stood with heaven in his face, The golden light that lights the shore of God’s eternity; And yet how simple was his heart, how kindly was his way, And how he cared for all his flock, nor wearied night nor day! If one strayed far he followed it, and won it back to fold, If one fell down he lifted it with tenderness untold; He fell asleep his labor done—how sweet must be the rest Of one who made his motto this, The Lord shall have my best. Good-bye, old church! Good-bye, I said, and left its portals wide, And then I turned and looked upon the new church just beside; Upon its windows tall and stained the yellow sunbeams played, It stood, the temple of the Lord, in loveliness arrayed. “I thought,” she said, and stroked his hand, “of one who takes his rest, The sun crept lower in the sky, the world lay sweet and fair, A bird trilled softly from its throat a song that was a prayer. The old man looked up at his wife, with tears his cheeks were wet, “Ay, there are many things,” he said, “we may not, dear, forget. We’re growing old, wife, like the day our sun sinks in the west, I’ll say with him we both loved well, The Lord shall have my best.” [Decorative image unavailable.] |
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