It was a stylish congregation
you could see they'd been around
And they had the biggest pipe
organ of any church in town
But over in the Amen Corner of
that church sat Brother Ayer
And he insisted every Sunday
on singing in the choir
His voice was cracked and broken age
had touched his vocal chords
And nearly every Sunday he'd
get behind and miss the words
Well the choir got so flustered
the church was told in fine
That Brother Ayer must stop his singing
or the choir was going to resign
So the pastor appointed a committee
I think it was three or four
And they got in their big fine cars
and drove up to Ayer's door
They find the choir's great trouble
sittin' there in an old arm chair
And the summer's golden sunbeams
lay upon his snow white hair
Said York we're here dear Brother
with the vestries approbation
To discuss a little matter that
affects the congregation
Now it seems that your voice
has interfered with the choir
So if you'll just lay out are you
listening Brother Ayer
The old man raised his head
a sign that he had hear
And on his cheek the three men caught
the glitter of a tear
His feeble hands pushed back
the locks as white as silky snow
And he answered the committee
in a voice both soft and low
I wonder if beyond the tide
that's breaking at my feet
In that far off heavenly temple where
my Master and I shall meet
Yes I wonder if when I try to sing
the song of God up higher
I wonder if they'll kick me out
of there for singing in heaven's choir
A silence filled the little room
and the old man bowed his head
The committee went on back to town
but Brother Ayer was dead
The choir missed him for awhile
but he was soon forgotten
A few church goers watched the door
but the old man entered not
Far away his voice is sweet and
he sings his heart desire
Where are there no church committees
and no fashionable choirs
Let me hide my self in Thee