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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