I entered once a home of care,
And penury and want were there,
But joy and peace withal.
I asked the aged mother whence
Her helpless widowhood’s defence;
She answered, “Christ is all.”
I saw the martyr at the stake,
The flames could not his courage shake,
Nor death his soul appall;
I asked him whence his strength was giv’n,
He looked triumphantly to Heaven,
And answered, “Christ is all.”
I stood beside the dying bed,
Where lay a child with aching head,
Waiting Jesus’ call;
I saw his smile, ’twas sweet as May,
And as his spirit passed away,
He whispered, “Christ is all.”
I dreamed that hoary time had fled,
That earth and sea gave up their dead,
A fire dissolved this ball;
I saw the church’s ransomed thrall,
I caught the burden of their song,
‘Twas this, that Christ is all in all in all.
The Laymen.
Leave it to the minister and soon the church will die.
Leave it to the women folk and the young will pass it by.
For the church is all that lifts us from the coarse and selfish mob.
But a church that is to prosper needs a layman on the job.
Now, a layman has his business, and a layman has his joys,
But he also has the rearing of his little girls and boys.
And I wonder how he’d like it if there were no churches here
And he had to raise his children in a godless atmosphere.
When you see a church that’s empty, though its doors are open wide,
It’s not the church that’s died. It’s the laymen who have died.
For it’s not by song or sermon that the church’s work is done.
It’s the laymen of the country who for God must carry on.
