Select Poetry.

Thames Star, Issue 3715, 20 November 1880, Page 1

Select Poetry.

THE MODEL CHURCH:

Well wife, I've found the model Church! I worshipped there to-day; It made me think of good old times before my hairs were grqy. The meeting house was finer built than they were years ago; But then I found, when I went in, it wasn't built for show.

The sexton didn't seat me 'way back by the door; He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and poor, He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly throngh The long aisle of that pleasant church, to find a pleasant pew. I wish you'd heard the singin'—it had the old-time ring— The preecher said wifh trumpet voice, "Let all the people sing;" The tune was " Coronation," and the music upward rolled.

Till I thought 1 heard the angels striking all their harps of gold.

My deafnesi teemed to melt fcway, my spirit caught the fire. ■ v .

I joined my feeble, trembling roice with that melodious choir, And sang, as in my youthful days, "Let angels prostrate fall, Bring forth the royal diadem and crown Him LordofalL"

I tell you, wife, it did me good to ting that hymn once more, I felt like some wrecked mariner who get* a glimpse of shore,; . I almost want to lay aside this weather-beaten / form And anchor in the blessed port for erer from the storm;

The preaehin'! Well, I can't just tell all that — the preacher eaid; I know it wasn't written, I. know it wasn't read; He hadr't time to read, for the lightnin' of his eye ' Went patting 'long from pew to pew, nor pasted a tinner by.

The sermon waist flowery, 'twas simple '-, gospel truth,

It fitted poor old men like me, it fitted hopeful youth, 'Twm full of consolation for weary hearts that bleed, - 'Twas full of imitations to Christ—and not to creed.

The preacher made sin hideous in Gentiles and in Jews j He shot the golden sentences straight at the finest pews, And though I can't see veey well, I saw the falling tear That told me hell was seme way off, and heaven very near. How swift the holy moments fled within that holy place! How brightly beamed the light of heaven from ■ every happy face! Again I looked for that sweet time when friend shall meet with friend. When congregations ne'er break up and Sabbaths have no end.

I hope to meet that minister, the congregation too, In the dear home beyond the skies, that shines from heaven's bine; I doubt not I'll remember, beyond life's evening grey, The free of God's dear servant who preached His word to-day. Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought, the -' victory be won, The shining goal is just ahead, tbe race is nearly run; .... O'er tbe river we are nearin' they are throng* ing to the shore, To shout bur safe arrival where the weary * weep no more. ,