When they sung ol' Coronation, w'y--it somehow seemed to grip An' to take your heart up with it on a sort o' 'scursion trip To the place where God stays! Of'en heart an' soul seemed all afire With the glory that they sung of in the dear ol' village choir. Then they'd have us all a-cryin' when they sung, at funril-time, Soft, an' low, an' sweet, an' sollum hymns that told about the clime Where there's never death or partin', an' the mourners never'd tire Lis'nen' to the words o' comfort sung by the ol' village choir. You c'n have your city singin' if you think it fills the bill;-- Give me the ol'-fashioned music of the ol' church on the hill. Music with no style about it--nothin' fine folks would admire, But it makes me homesick, thinkin' o' the dear ol' village choir. THE TWO SINGERS I know two of this earth's singers; one longed to climb and stand Upon the heights o'er looking the peaceful lower land, "There where great souls have gathered, the few great souls of earth, I'll sing my songs," he told us, "and they will own their worth. "But if I sang them only to those who love the plain They would not understand them, and I would sing in vain. Oh, better far to sing them to earth's great souls, though few, Than to sing them to the many who ne'er one great thought knew." So he climbed the heights, and on them sang, and those who heard-- Earth's few great souls, ah, never they gave one longed-for word, For the mighty thoughts within them filled each one's soul and brain, And few among them listened to the music of his strain. But the other singer sang to the toilers in the vale, The patient, plodding many, who strive, and win, and fail. His songs of faith and gladness, of hope and trust and cheer, Were sweet with strength and comfort, and men were glad to hear. Little this valley singer knew of the good he wrought; He dreamed not of the courage that from his songs was caught-- Of the hearts that were made lighter, the hands that stronger grew, As they listened to his singing to the many, not to few. He who sang upon the mountains was forgotten long ago-- Not one song of his remembered as the swift years come and go. But the dwellers in the valley sing the other's sweet songs o'er, And as his grave grows greener they love them more and more. THE UNFRUITFUL TREE There stood in a beautiful garden A tall and stately tree. Crowned with its shining leafage It was wondrous fair to see. But alas! it was always fruitless; Never a blossom grew To brighten its spreading branches The whole long season through.