It was a quiet, peaceful Sabbath morning. The birds sang sweetly in the trees, praising their maker, just as the people who were making their way to the church would be doing soon.
As the people entered the church yard, beautiful song wafted out through the open windows. It was a hymn, as the people of this church always sang. Hymns that even the smallest child could sing, albeit with a lisping accent. Hymns that had been sung by their ancestors for hundreds of years, and yet still held truth.
Many churches in the town had begun to integrate newer, more contemporary songs into their worship services. Gone were the sweet, beautiful tones of a church raising it's voice together. Now, churches had drums, and guitars, and all manner of noise makers, that served only to drown out the voice of it's brethren. Why bother singing if your voice cannot be heard?
The people heading to this church, however, had joy in their hearts. Even now, the organ was gently humming a song about that very thing; Joy to the World, the Lord has come. These people did not have their ears blasted by too-loud music. These people did not have a "worship" team, and yet their souls were soothed every Sunday.
Even the young people would remember all of their lives, with lovely fondness, the sweet songs that they had heard as children. Someday, those tuneful words would be more to them than just nostalgic memories.
There is a need for beautiful music to be played in church. My heart aches to hear a body of people raise their voices to sing Amazing Grace, Blessed Assurance, The Church's One Foundation, and other dear songs. I desperately want to hold a volume of hymns that has a well worn, but loved binding; to turn through it's pages simply taking in the titles.
Perhaps I am the one being nostalgic. Perhaps I don't really know what I'm talking about. However, there is one thing that I do know. I miss singing old hymns in church. I don't believe I have heard one, real, old hymn sung in church since last December.
I leave you with--a hymn. The Church in the Wildwood is the first song that came to mind when I thought about writing this post. Someday it would be nice to visit The Little Brown Church in the Vale, but for now, the song will do. You can listen to its loveliness HERE.
The Church in the Wildwood
by Dr. William S. Pitts
There's a church in the valley by the wildwood,
No lovelier spot in the dale;
No place is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale.
Chorus
Oh, come, come, come, come,
Come to the church in the wildwood,
Oh, come to the church in the vale;
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale.
Second Stanza
Oh, come to the church in the vale,
To the trees where the wild flowers bloom;
Where the parting hymn will be chanted,
We will weep by the side of the tomb.
Third Stanza
How sweet on a clear Sabbath morning,
To list to the clear ringing bell;
Its tones so sweetly are calling,
Oh come to the church in the vale.
Fourth Stanza
From the church in the valley by the wildwood,
When day fades away into night,
I would fain from this spot of my childhood
Wing my way to the mansions of light.
Copyright 2009 Defective Compositions
As the people entered the church yard, beautiful song wafted out through the open windows. It was a hymn, as the people of this church always sang. Hymns that even the smallest child could sing, albeit with a lisping accent. Hymns that had been sung by their ancestors for hundreds of years, and yet still held truth.
Many churches in the town had begun to integrate newer, more contemporary songs into their worship services. Gone were the sweet, beautiful tones of a church raising it's voice together. Now, churches had drums, and guitars, and all manner of noise makers, that served only to drown out the voice of it's brethren. Why bother singing if your voice cannot be heard?
The people heading to this church, however, had joy in their hearts. Even now, the organ was gently humming a song about that very thing; Joy to the World, the Lord has come. These people did not have their ears blasted by too-loud music. These people did not have a "worship" team, and yet their souls were soothed every Sunday.
Even the young people would remember all of their lives, with lovely fondness, the sweet songs that they had heard as children. Someday, those tuneful words would be more to them than just nostalgic memories.
There is a need for beautiful music to be played in church. My heart aches to hear a body of people raise their voices to sing Amazing Grace, Blessed Assurance, The Church's One Foundation, and other dear songs. I desperately want to hold a volume of hymns that has a well worn, but loved binding; to turn through it's pages simply taking in the titles.
Perhaps I am the one being nostalgic. Perhaps I don't really know what I'm talking about. However, there is one thing that I do know. I miss singing old hymns in church. I don't believe I have heard one, real, old hymn sung in church since last December.
I leave you with--a hymn. The Church in the Wildwood is the first song that came to mind when I thought about writing this post. Someday it would be nice to visit The Little Brown Church in the Vale, but for now, the song will do. You can listen to its loveliness HERE.
The Church in the Wildwood
by Dr. William S. Pitts
There's a church in the valley by the wildwood,
No lovelier spot in the dale;
No place is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale.
Chorus
Oh, come, come, come, come,
Come to the church in the wildwood,
Oh, come to the church in the vale;
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale.
Second Stanza
Oh, come to the church in the vale,
To the trees where the wild flowers bloom;
Where the parting hymn will be chanted,
We will weep by the side of the tomb.
Third Stanza
How sweet on a clear Sabbath morning,
To list to the clear ringing bell;
Its tones so sweetly are calling,
Oh come to the church in the vale.
Fourth Stanza
From the church in the valley by the wildwood,
When day fades away into night,
I would fain from this spot of my childhood
Wing my way to the mansions of light.
