  The congregation was devout, The minister inspired, Their attitude to those without By every one admired, And all things so harmonious seemed, Of no calamity we dreamed. But, just in this quiescent state A little cloud arose Portentous of our certain fate— As everybody knows; Our pastor took it in his head His "resignation" must be read. For we accepted it Reluctantly, but nothing could Make him recant one bit; And soon he left for distant parts, While we were left—with broken hearts. And next the "patriarch" who led For nearly three-score years Our "Sabbath school"—its worthy head— Rekindled all our fears By saying, with a smile benign, "Since it's the fashion, I'll resign!" And so he did; but promptly came Forth one, of good report— "Our Superintendent" is his name— Who tries to "hold the fort" With wisdom, tact, and rare good sense, In this, his first experience. The world looks on and says, "How strange! They hang together so, These Baptists do, and never change, But right straight onward go While other flocks are scattering all, And some have strayed beyond recall!" |
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