Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE OLD DEACON'S LAMENT, by ELIZABETH T. CORBETT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE OLD DEACON'S LAMENT, by                    
First Line: Yes, I've been a deacon of our church
Last Line: I don't believe I can!
Alternate Author Name(s): Corbett, E. T., Mrs.
Subject(s): Memory


YES, I've been a deacon of our church
Nigh on to fifty year,
Walked in the way of dooty, too,
And kep' my conscience clear.
I've watched the children growin' up,
Seen brown locks turnin' gray,
But never saw sech doin's yet
As those I've seen to-day.

This church was built by godly men
To glorify the Lord,
In seventeen hundred eighty-eight;
Folks couldn't then afford
Carpets, cushings, and sech like --
The seats were jest plain wood,
Too narrer for the sleepy ones;
In prayer we allus stood.

And when the hymns were given out,
I tell you it was grand
To hear our leader start the tunes,
With tunin'-fork in hand!
Then good old "China," "Mear," and all,
Were heard on Sabbath days,
And men and women, boys and girls,
J'ined in the song of praise.

But that old pulpit was my pride --
Jest eight feet from the ground
They'd reared it up -- on either side
A narrer stairs went down;
The front and ends were fitly carved
With Scripter stories all, --
Findin' of Moses, Jacob's dream,
And sinful Adam's fall.

Just room inside to put a cheer,
The Bible on the ledge
(I'll own I did git narvous when
He shoved it to the edge).
There week by week the parson stood
The Scripter to expound;
There, man and boy, I've sot below,
And not a fault was found.

Of course I've seen great changes made,
And fought agenst 'em too;
And first a choir was interdooced,
Then cushings in each pew;
Next, boughten carpet for the floor;
And then, that very year,
We got our new melodeon
And the big shandyleer.

Well, well! I tried to keep things straight --
I went to ev'ry meetin'
And voted "No" to all they said,
And found my influ'nce fleetin'.
At last the worst misfortin' fell --
I must blame Deacon Brown;
He helped the young folks when they said
The pulpit should come down.

They laughed at all those pious scenes
I'd found so edifyin';
Said, "When the parson rose to preach,
He looked a'most like flyin';"
Said that "Elijah's chariot
Jest half-way up had tarried;"
And Deacon Brown sot by and laughed, --
And so the p'int was carried.

This was last week. The carpenters
Have nearly made an end --
Excoose my feelin's. Seems to me
As ef I'd lost a friend.
"It made their necks ache, lookin' up,"
Was what the folks did say;
More lookin' up would help us all
In this degin rate day.

The church won't never seem the same
(I'm half afraid) to me,
Under the preachin' of the truth
I've ben so used to be.
And now to see our parson stand,
Like any common man,
With jest a railin' round his desk --
I don't believe I can!





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