 |
THE ABANDONED CHURCH
AS I STOOD IN ITS DUSTY LONELINESS A THOUSAND OF THE SWEETEST MEMORIES OF LIFE SWEPT OVER ME-AND SOME OF THE SADDEST. THERE AT THAT BROKEN ALTAR RAILING AS A BOY I WAS CONVERTED; THERE I SAW THAT SAME MOTHER RESTING QUIETLY AS THE PEOPLE WALKED SADLY DOWN THE OLD AISLE TO SEE HER FACE FOR THE LAST TIME; THERE MARRIAGE, THERE LOVE, THERE EASTER DAYS, AND CHRISTMAS TREES; THERE FRIENDS MET GOD, AND JOYED TO KNOW HIS FACE. THERE OLD QUARRELS WERE FORGOTTEN, AND NEIGHBORS WHO HAD HATED MET TO FORGIVE; THERE COMMUNIONS OF BOYHOOD WERE TAKEN IN HOLY REVERENCE; THERE I SAW MEN WHOM I HAD ALWAYS LOVED AND RESPECTED AS GOD'S OWN APOSTLES PASS FOREVER OUT FROM THE DOORS TO GOD'S OWN PATHWAYS. AND IN THE BACK OF THAT DUSTY, EMPTY OLD CHURCH I COULD HEAR, AS I STOOD THERE ALONE, THE ECHOES OF THE PAST-MEN SHOUTING BECAUSE GOD HAD JOYED THEIR HEARTS; THE VOICES OF WOMEN IN PRAYER, PRAYERS TO MELT THE HEART OF STONE. I HEARD THE GONE ECHO OF OLD SONGS; OF TESTIMONIES THAT AS A BOY I HAD HEARD SO MANY TIMES AS TO KNOW THEM BY HEART. THEN THEY SOUNDED STRANGE; NOW AS I LOOK BACK THEY SOUND STRANGELY SWEET.
ABANDONED? YES, ABANDONED BY FOLKS, BUT MYRIAD MEMORIES ARE STILL THERE; AND VOICES AND SONGS AND PRAYERS STILL ECHO TO THOSE WHO CAN HEAR.
It is abandoned now, and cobwebs hang from every pew;
There dusty-dim the sunlight sifts the stained-glass windows through;
And over there the once soft-colored ceiling filled with stars
The dripping stain of many a rain bemoans and mars;
The plaster falls across the sacred altar place,
And dew dust streaks the holy Christ Man's face
In yonder fronting window where the morning sun
Erstwhile shone through to light that Wondrous One.
No longer rolls the organ through these corridors sublime;
But, ah, the wondrous music of another holy time,
When Mother's voice from yonder choir, so full and sweet,
Went drifting on the morning air the robin's song to meet
And mingle o'er the restful Sabbath throng
Of birds and men, and flowers and swaying trees-
Here in the dusty silence is the memory of these!
I see myself a boy again, I hear her pleading voice-
It sang for me that day; I made my choice,
I rose from where I sat, walked down the lengthened aisle.
Her tones swept into gladness, and the while
My own heart seemed to sing with bursting joy.
Ah, yes, that day of days came to me when a boy.
But it brought happiness sublime; none such I've found
Since then, though I have wandered all the world around.
I threw myself across the circling altar there,
And wept that I had sinned; and made my prayer
To God, while Mother's voice began to sing
So sweet and low: "Simply to thy cross I cling."
Then suddenly across the blackness of my night
I rather felt than saw a wondrous light:
It was the face of God that smiled on me,
And in these dusty glooms again that light I see.
The dust is gone; the windows once again are fair;
The morning light sweeps through the stained-glass there;
The birds are singing once again in those old trees;
The lilac scent is drifting on the summer breeze;
The broken altar-rail is whole again.
And all is as it was that wondrous morning when
The call of Mother's song and God's own grace
Found me upon my knees in this dear place.
[Written in the early 1920's after Bill Stidger visited Moundsville, West Virginia, and saw again the Simpson Church, now used as a warehouse.]
back to list of poems
|
 |
 |
