Without a Minister.

The congregation was devout,         The minister inspired,     Their attitude to those without         By every one admired,     And all things so harmonious seemed,     Of no calamity we dreamed.     But, just in this quiescent state         A little cloud arose     Portentous of our certain fate -         As everybody knows;     Our pastor took it in his head     His "resignation" must be read.     In every eye a tear-drop stood,         For we accepted it     Reluctantly, but nothing could         Make him recant one bit;     And soon he left for distant parts,     While we were left - with broken hearts.     And next the "patriarch" who led         For nearly three-score years     Our "Sabbath school" - its worthy head -         Rekindled all our fears     By saying, with a smile benign,     "Since it's the fashion, I'll resign!"     And so he did; but promptly came         Forth one, of good report -     "Our Superintendent" is his name -         Who tries to "hold the fort"     With wisdom, tact, and rare good sense,     In this, his first experience.     The world looks on and says, "How strange!         They hang together so,     These Baptists do, and never change,         But right straight onward go     While other flocks are scattering all,     And some have strayed beyond recall!"