Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.

Humorous Poems: II. Miscellaneous

The New Church Organ

Will Carleton (1845–1912)

THEY ’VE got a bran new organ, Sue,

For all their fuss and search;

They ’ve done just as they said they ’d do,

And fetched it into church.

They ’re bound the critter shall be seen,

And on the preacher’s right,

They ’ve hoisted up their new machine

In everybody’s sight.

They ’ve got a chorister and choir,

Ag’in my voice and vote;

For it was never my desire

To praise the Lord by note!

I ’ve been a sister good an’ true,

For five an’ thirty year;

I ’ve done what seemed my part to do,

An’ prayed my duty clear;

I ’ve sung the hymns both slow and quick,

Just as the preacher read;

And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick,

I took the fork an’ led!

An’ now, their bold, new-fangled ways

Is comin’ all about;

And I, right in my latter days,

Am fairly crowded out!

To-day, the preacher, good old dear,

With tears all in his eyes,

Read—“I can read my title clear

To mansions in the skies.”—

I al’ays liked that blessèd hymn—

I s’pose I al’ays will;

It somehow gratifies my whim,

In good old Ortonville;

But when that choir got up to sing,

I couldn’t catch a word;

They sung the most dog-gonedest thing

A body ever heard!

Some worldly chaps was standin’ near,

An’ when I see them grin,

I bid farewell to every fear,

And boldly waded in.

I thought I ’d chase the tune along,

An’ tried with all my might;

But though my voice is good an’ strong,

I couldn’t steer it right.

When they was high, then I was low,

An’ also contra’wise;

And I too fast, or they too slow,

To “mansions in the skies.”

An’ after every verse, you know,

They played a little tune;

I didn’t understand, an’ so

I started in too soon.

I pitched it purty middlin’ high,

And fetched a lusty tone,

But O, alas! I found that I

Was singin’ there alone!

They laughed a little, I am told;

But I had done my best;

And not a wave of trouble rolled

Across my peaceful breast.

And Sister Brown,—I could but look,—

She sits right front of me;

She never was no singin’ book,

An’ never went to be;

But then she al’ays tried to do

The best she could, she said;

She understood the time, right through,

An’ kep’ it with her head;

But when she tried this morn in’, O,

I had to laugh, or cough!

It kep’ her head a bobbin’ so,

It e’en a’most come off!

An’ Deacon Tubbs,—he all broke down,

As one might well suppose;

He took one look at Sister Brown,

And meekly scratched his nose.

He looked his hymn-book through and through,

And laid it on the seat,

And then a pensive sigh he drew,

And looked completely beat.

An’ when they took another bout,

He didn’t even rise;

But drawed his red bandanner out,

An’ wiped his weepin’ eyes.

I ’ve been a sister, good an’ true,

For five an’ thirty year;

I ’ve done what seemed my part to do,

An’ prayed my duty clear;

But death will stop my voice, I know,

For he is on my track;

And some day I ’ll to meetin’ go,

And nevermore come back.

And when the folks get up to sing—

Whene’er that time shall be—

I do not want no patent thing

A squealin’ over me!