| It was a stylish congregation you could see they’d been around
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| And they had the biggest pipe organ of any church in town
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| But over in the Amen Corner of that church sat Brother Ayer
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| And he insisted every Sunday on singing in the choir
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| His voice was cracked and broken age had touched his vocal chords
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| And nearly every Sunday he’d get behind and miss the words
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| Well, the choir got so flustered the church was told in fine
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| That Brother Ayer must stop his singing or the choir was going to resign
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| So the pastor appointed a committee. |
| I think it was three or four
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| And they got in their big fine cars and drove up to Ayer’s door
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| They find the choir’s great trouble sittin' there in an old arm chair
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| And the summer’s golden sunbeams lay upon his snow white hair
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| Said York we’re here dear Brother with the vestries approbation
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| To discuss a little matter that affects the congregation
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| Now it seems that your voice has interfered with the choir
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| So if you’ll just lay out are you listening Brother Ayer
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| The old man raised his head a sign that he had hear
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| And on his cheek the three men caught the glitter of a tear
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| His feeble hands pushed back the locks as white as silky snow
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| And he answered the committee in a voice both soft and low
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| I wonder if beyond the tide that’s breaking at my feet
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| In that far off heavenly temple where my Master and I shall meet
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| Yes, I wonder if when I try to sing the song of God up higher
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| I wonder if they’ll kick me out of there for singing in heaven’s choir
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| A silence filled the little room and the old man bowed his head
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| The committee went on back to town but Brother Ayer was dead
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| The choir missed him for awhile but he was soon forgotten
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| A few church goers watched the door but the old man entered not
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| Far away his voice is sweet and he sings his heart desire
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| Where are there no church committees and no fashionable choirs
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| Let me hide myself in Thee… |