Well, Wife, Ive Found The Model Church

Well, wife, I've found the model church,

And worshipped there today;

It made me think of good old times,

Before my hair was gray;

The meeting house was finer built

Than they were years ago,

But then I found when I went in,

It was not built for show.

The sexton did not set me down

Away back by the door;

He knew that I was old and deaf,

And saw that I was poor;

He must have been a Christian man,

He led me boldly through

The crowded aisle of that grand church,

To find a pleasant pew.

I wish you'd heard the singing, wife,

It had the old-time ring;

The preacher said with trumpet voice,

Let all the people sing:

"Old Coronation," was the tune;

The music upward rolled

Until I tho't the angel choir

Struck all their harps of gold.

My deafness seemed to melt away,

My spirit caught the fire;

I joined my feeble, trembling voice

With that melodious choir;

And sang as in my youthful days,

"Let angels prostrate fall.

Bring forth the royal diadem

And crown Him Lord of all."

I tell you, wife, it did me good

To sing that hymn once more;

I felt like some wrecked mariner

Who gets a glimpse of shore;

I almost want to lay aside

This weather beaten form,

And anchor in the blessèd port,

Forever from the storm.

'Twas not a flowery sermon, wife,

But simple gospel truth;

It fitted humble men like me;

It suited hopeful youth;

To win immortal souls to Christ,

The earnest preacher tried;

He talked not of himself, or creed,

But Jesus crucified.

Dear wife, the toil will soon be o'er,

The vict'ry soon be won;

The shining land is just ahead,

Our race is nearly run;

We're nearing Canaan's happy shore,

Our home so bright and fair;

Thank God, we'll never sin again,

There'll be no sorrow there.