FOOT WASHING

There is something now that's missing Lord, 'twas hard to see it go. 'Twas a little country church house and old friends I used to know.

They all went out to service to get Manna for their soul, and when the preaching started they made the Hallelujah's roll.

On their knees they prayed together, Then opened up their books to sing. And when the music started they could make old "Zion" ring!

As a youngster I remember how I sat there in my seat and watched old friends and neighbors as they washed each others feet.

How I loved to sit and listen when they sang old "Beulah Land", and before the service ended they'd sing "Jesus Hold My Hand".

I've seen some grand old Mothers, Lord, I can't forget their smile, and when they felt the Spirit they'd go shouting down the aisle.

Talk about some happy people, tear drops streaming down their face When the organ started playing and they sang "Amazing Grace".

Now their church has made a hay barn and they'll gather there no more But I thought I heard them singing over on the other shore.

John L. Gwaltney

OLD FRANK

I'm writing these lines to a friend I once had, the truest friend of all time. It's all about Frank, the ole family horse, who lived just past twenty-nine.

A high-flying mane, a beautiful head, a tail that near dragged the ground. A rifle-straight back, he was ebony black, barrel-chested, perfect and round.

When the roads were icy or too muddy to wade, we rode him to school and back, and never a neighbor who lived on that road but knew that high-stepping black.

Seven masters he had and served them all well. Yet, he had no master at all, for we learned from him as we grew to be men. Intelligent, he knew it all.

As the years passed by, we finished our school. He took us to church and to town, He plowed in the garden, worked in the field, Old Frank was always around.

His last fading years were lived out in ease. He retired to the meadow and stall. A younger horse came, took his place in the field. His harness was gone from the wall.

I'll never forget when we had to part. 'Twas a sad, chilly Autumn day. Through tears I picked out a place he had loved and gently laid him away.

I know these lines are more easy to read When read through a farm boy's eyes, For a boy who is born and lives on a farm knows that a horse like Frank never dies.

John L. Gwaltney