The Old Village Choir

by Eben Eugene Rexford

I have be'n in city churches where the way-up singers sing,
Till their thousand'-dollar voices make the very rafters ring.
Seems as if the sound kep' clim'in' till it got lost in the spire,
But I all the time was wishin' 'twas our dear ol' village choir.
Somehow, highfallutin' singin' never seemed to touch the spot
Like the ol' religious singin' o' the times I hain't forgot;
Jest the ol' hymns over'n over—nothin' city folks desire,
But some heart was in the singin' of that same ol' village choir.
Nothin' airy 'bout the singers—land; they never tho't o' style,
But they made you think o' Heaven an' of good things all the while,
Made you feel as ef the angels couldn't help a comin' nigher
Jest to lis'en to the music made by that ol' village choir.
When they sung ol' Coronation, w'y—it somehow seemed to grip
An' to take your heart up with it on a sort o' 'scursion trip
To the place where God stays! Of'en heart an' soul seemed all afire
With the glory that they sung of in the dear ol' village choir.
Then they'd have us all a-cryin' when they sung, at funril-time,
Soft, an' low, an' sweet, an' sollum hymns that told about the clime
Where there's never death or partin', an' the mourners never'd tire
Lis'nen' to the words o' comfort sung by the ol' village choir.
You c'n have your city singin' if you think it fills the bill;—
Give me the ol'-fashioned music of the ol' church on the hill.
Music with no style about it—nothin' fine folks would admire,
But it makes me homesick, thinkin' o' the dear ol' village choir.