Sunday, September 1, 2013

The Least of These

We love it here
As the Sundays pass
With the smiles galore
With the rich stained glass
And the preacher seems
To have caught our heart
And the tempo thrills
As the songsters start
Yes, the pains forgot
Once they close the door
And the time flies by
How we thirst for more.

But the strangest thing
Happened just last week
As a woman showed
Who was frail and weak
With her clothes askew
And her hair a mess
And the sobs came next
No one moved to bless
She just sat and stared
At a stained glass Psalm
'Til the closing prayer
When she shuffled on.

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