ALAS, the church is empty near,
The light is dim, the service drear;
The hymns are poor, and more than that,
The tenor’s never been so flat!
The service ‘gan ten minutes late—
Near empty the collection plate—
Fourteen upon the gallery,
And that’s including modest me!
Nondescript flowers in the vase;
Ah, woe is us, alas, alas!
Where is the reason? What the cause?
Let us just think! Let us just pause!
Kirk Braddan calls insistently,
And there they go unashamedly;
While we sit in a hollow church,
And feel they’ve left us in the lurch,
And for them have no further use
When noticing the empty pews.
But R.B.G. a sermon gave
They missed by their own misbehave,
And they’ll be harder now to save.