The Old Methodist's Testimony

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · April 29, 1880

FromAdvent Review and Sabbath Herald, Vol. 55, No. 18

The Old Methodist's Testimony.

I praise the Lord, my Christian friends, that I am with you still, Though standin' like an old log house upon a west-side hill; The music has gone out, you know; the timbers have decayed; But sunshine on 'em's just as warm as when they first was laid.

Almost a hundred years have passed sin' I was born, and then 'Twas only fifteen further on, and I was born again. I've seen the forest melt away; nice houses have been reared; The world has quite outstripped the church, I'm very much afeard.

They used to tell a Methodist as far as eye could scan— No gewgaws on a woman then, no dickey on a man— But now our congregations are so much by fashion led, They look just like a rainbow wrecked upon a posy bed.

The circuit riders of them days were not so fine and grand; They took degrees a haulin' logs and clearin' up the land: But when one of 'em rose to preach, I tell you we could smell The fragrant flowers of Heaven and the stifling smoke of hell.

We had an “amen corner,” too, beside the pulpit stairs, And while he raised his sermon-bents, we lifted with our prayers; We threw in many a loud “Thank God!” and weren't obliged to go, To give the Lord the glory, to a class-room down below.

The grand old quart'ly meetin's were to all the brethren dear, Just like four green oases in the desert of the year; The people flocked from miles around; my wife would take a score, And after supper they would pray, and sleep upon the floor.

I know the world's a-movin' on, as Galileo said, For now I rent a cushioned pew to hear an essay read; But when through stained-glass windows the sun throws blue and gold, I cannot help a-thinkin' how the glory shone of old.

They call me an “old fossil,” and a “relic of the past,” A “fogy” and a “croaker,” too; but this went always last; I tread a tremblin' isthmus where two seas of glory roll, And soon the past and future bliss will swallow up the soul.

And when I reach fair Canaan, the Lord will doubtless see That mansions in the city will not do for such as me; So he will let me go among the old-fashioned saints I think, And praise him 'neath the tree of life upon the river's brink.

—Nashville Christian Advocate.