Preacher Man

Revivals and camp meetings,
 Used to be a big event,
 The preacher was a traveling man,
 We thought was Heaven sent.
Beneath a tent, that was a roof
 From stars high overhead,
 He cleared his throat and in thunderous voice,
 This is what he said.

 ‘Repent ye sinners, one and all,
 Before it is too late,’
 We sat there terrified at
 What he said could be our fate.
He spoke of fire and brimstone,
How we all could burn in hell,
He held the crowd all mesmerized,
With words he knew so well.

For a solid week we went there,
And we listened every night,
As he spoke of God and angels,
And we sang with all our might.
And when finally it was over,
And he rode into the night,
We shook our heads and all agreed
That preacher had been right.
For some it was a little late,
To wash away their sin,
While others opened up their hearts,
 And let their Savior in.

There were those who talked for days on end,
 And even months thereafter,
Of the revival and the preacher man,
 And the converts he was after.

©  Loree (Mason) O’Neil

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