The Pastor

In a small town in Kentucky
There's a little Baptist church,
And to find a church quite like it
It would be an endless search.

Though I seem to be far from it
Still my heart is very near,
Yes, 'tis there the old pump organ
Plays the hymns I love to hear.

I remember very clearly
While at church one Sabbath day
Many prayers were for the Pastor
Who at home quite ill did lay.

How my eyes were on the pulpit
And my heart filled with despair,
As I saw that on the platform
It was not the Pastor there.

Tho the face was quite familiar
And the service went the same,
There at home was my last Sunday
Oh, the tears so fast they came.

I could hardly pump the organ
As they sang the final hymn,
How I prayed so for the Pastor
That good health would come to him.

He has helped so many others
Visited sick and fed the poor,
Clothed the needy, given money
God, I felt, would surely cure.

Never will there be a Pastor
More devoted than is he,
He still serves the Lord with gladness
I'm his daughter, proud to be!

~ author ~
Donna Lilly Marcus

Photo is of the First Baptist Church in Marion, Kentucky.
My Daddy was the pastor there for over 40 years.