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Went to church in Punkin
Holler
Down in Arkansaw,
Lookin like a bran new dollar,
Went smilin, me and ma.
Went to meetin in the wildwood
"Long the briary lanes,"
Like we used to do in childhood
With our country swains.
There we met a friendly people
In a shady shrine
On the hillside without steeple,
Where the Christ Divine
Met an' walked among their number,
Walked an' talked with them,
Touched them with His living presence,
With his diadem.
Heard the elder preach a sermon
'Bout the potter's wheel
How we cannot oft determine
What is for the weal.
How we often shape our turnin
Kinder out'er gear,
Often scarcely worth the burnin',
Nor a briny tear.
How we've failed to mix the water
In proportions to the clay,
So's to suit the Master Potter
On the burnin day.
How the master in his meekness
Takes our broken vase,
Mends it where we've failed in weakness,
Makes anew by Grace.
Makes us fit to serve our neighbor
At the wayside well
In the valley or on Tabor,
Wherever he may dwell.
Fits us for another Haven
Across the narrow sea,
Where our names may be engraven
In the yet-to-be. |
