In a dimly-lit room, aside the chancel,
Sit two old wooden chairs.
Side by side, they’ve been in this place,
For well over eighty years.
Their backs are straight, their joints are tight,
On hickory legs they’re secured.
A comfort to many who’ve known this place,
And a symbol for all that endures.
On one rests a boy, nervous and cold,
His father on the other, by his side.
Soon they’ll join the preacher in front,
To await the boy’s beautiful bride.
The quiet moments before his sermon
The preacher takes pause in a chair.
With God as his strength, in humility he bows,
To ask for wisdom in his prayer.
The couple who waits with their newborn child,
A beautiful boy in a gown.
To come to the font where baptism’s mark,
Will find rest on his sweet little crown.
The man who grieves on one of the seats,
As he waits to bury his life.
The other chair empty, now weakened a bit,
By the thought of him losing his wife.
The chairs mostly empty have been in this room,
Side-by-side over eighty years.
Their legs touching gently as lovers for life,
Understanding our humanly cares.
Levi Hill — Copyright 2002