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His old and shabby
clothing
Revealed a strong
determined will
With shaky legs and
tattered bible
He’d go to the church upon
the hill.
T’was just a crooked
little building
In a state of needed
repair
But, it didn’t really
matter much
Come Sunday, he’d be
there.
Taking his place at the
broken down pulpit
He preached about heaven
and hell
Thumbing through the
yellowing pages
Of the book he knew so
well.
Looking over the empty
wooden pews
Each Sunday would bring
more pain
He’d pray for a
congregation
But, nobody ever came.
He knew his days were
numbered
One day he felt gravely
ill
But, he took his bible
with faltering steps
To the church upon the
hill.
Perhaps, just this one
Sunday
They would come to hear
him speak
But, with tear filled
eyes, he realized
With them he’d never meet.
He preached a wonderful
sermon
To a room so empty and
still
Then, he died there at the
altar
In the church upon the
hill.
A simple funeral was
provided
Yet, nobody even came
To pay regards or last
respects
To the preacher with no
name.
***epilogue***
But, little did the people
know
The end of time was near
When Jesus came on
judgment day
They ran around in fear.
“Oh Jesus, you must save
us
Our hearts have been
sincere”
But, Jesus turned away
from them
Their cries, he did not
hear.
He knew their tongues were
full of lies
Their souls, he could not
heal
For, He was the man who
preached and died
In the church upon the
hill.
The End
Marilyn Ferguson
Copyrighted. All rights
reserved.
Echoes Of The Heart
Dec. 17,1992
The Writer's Pen
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presenting a new
offering of literary
talent. If you have
an article, poem or
devotional you would like
to submit, please email it
to me, and I
will give it prayerful
consideration.
This section will be
updated weekly, so
check back to see the new
additions!
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