The Ladies Aid
The old church bell had long been cracked,
Its call was but a groan;
It seemed to sound a funeral knell
With every broken tone.
“We need a bell,” the brethren said,
“But taxes must be paid,
We have no money we can spare,
Just ask the Ladies Aid.”
The shingles on the roof were old,
The rain came down in rills,
The brethren slowly shook their heads,
And spoke of monthly bills.
The chairman of the board arose, and said,
“I am afraid
That we shall have to lay
The case before the Ladies Aid.”
The carpet had been patched and patched,
Till quite beyond repair,
And thru the aisles and on the steps,
The boards showed hard and bare.
“It is too bad,” the brethren said,
“An effort must be made
To raise an interest, on the part
Of the members of the Aid.”
The preacher’s stipend was behind,
The poor man blushed to meet
The butcher and the grocer
As they passed him on the street.
But nobly spoke the brethren then,
“Pastor, you shall be paid!
We’ll call upon the Treasurer
Of our good Ladies Aid.”
“Ah!” said the men. “The way to Heaven
is long and hard and steep;
With slopes of care on either side;
The path is hard to keep.
We cannot climb the heights alone
Our hearts are sore dismayed;
We ne’er shall get to Heaven at all
Without the Ladies Aid.”
Author Unknown, reprinted from a unknown cookbook