It was a stylish congregation, you could see they'd been around

And they had the biggest pipe organ of any church in town

But over in the Amen Corner of that church sat Brother Ayer

And he insisted every Sunday on singing in the choir His voice was cracked, and broken age had touched his vocal chords

And nearly every Sunday he'd get behind and miss the words

Well, the choir got so flustered, the church was told in fine

That Brother Ayer must stop his singing or the choir was going to resign So the pastor appointed a committee, I think it was three or four

And they got in their big fine cars and drove up to Ayer's door

They find the choir's great trouble sittin' there in an old arm chair

And the summer's golden sunbeams lay upon his snow white hair Said, "York, we're here dear Brother with the vestries approbation

To discuss a little matter that affects the congregation

Now, it seems that your voice has interfered with the choir

So, if you'll just lay out, are you listening Brother Ayer?" The old man raised his head a sign that he had hear

And on his cheek the three men caught the glitter of a tear

His feeble hands pushed back the locks as white as silky snow

And he answered the committee in a voice both soft and low "I wonder if beyond the tide that's breaking at my feet

In that far off heavenly temple where my Master and I shall meet

Yes, I wonder if, when I try to sing the song of God up higher

I wonder if they'll kick me out of there for singing in heaven's choir A silence filled the little room and the old man bowed his head

The committee went on back to town but Brother Ayer was dead

The choir missed him for awhile but he was soon forgotten

A few church goers watched the door but the old man entered not Far away his voice is sweet and he sings his heart desire

Where are there no church committees and no fashionable choirs

Let me hide myself in Thee