There is an old church organ well past its prime,
That has given much to many through its time.
But its pedals are worn and its sound is faded,
From playing the hymns of life, now so jaded.
Oh but for a new one, that would be so grand,
At least a hundred times and better than a band.
Weddings and funerals and every Sunday past,
Hoping the moments in its tones could forever last.
In an old church building sits this instrument,
Upkeep on both is thought more than should be spent.
The wooden walls and pews have seen so many healed,
But now, far too often, the doors, they just stay sealed.
For want of interest or lack of an outflow,
It is just not the same place we all used to know,
Once, maybe just, we felt the touch of the Lord there,
So we come with yearning, when we have time to spare.
To find the cost of giving has taken its toll,
Empty numbers, once people, now fill the roll,
Once the seats were filled and full from side to side,
But only few are left, others gone, some glorified.
See it is an worn body hearing that lovely sound,
In the aging and creaking church they stay around,
The other generation, this next one not sure,
Of why to pay the price for what is holy, pure.
Up in the pulpit stands the pastor, all the same,
Bearing with a people, knowing there is no blame.
Some ask what is happening, trying to see why,
It seems so hard to hold what was, even to get by.
There are always new things and even new people,
But time and folks keep passing, under the steeple.
Hoping for the moments they preciously held dear,
When each one felt the presence of the Lord draw near.
No new organ, church, pastor, people~can heal old,
Or relight the flames, of a desire grown cold.
Yes, it is these good things we blame for what we feel,
When apathy, anger, despair, fear~our joy steal.
The moment, the feeling, power in His touch,
Never has and never will, require all that much.
Certainly not these things we tie up in our mind,
But seek the Lord, in Him the old made new we find.
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