First Baptist Church

[good4somethingbum]

First Baptist ChurchShe left Atlanta on a grey mareJust six months ahead of the flamesWith a husband in the dirt, who perished at GettysburgAnd a boy in her belly to bear his nameShe made it to a town in TexasThat was just boothills and saloonsWith six coins from her pack, she rented a rundown shackWith dirt floors that discouraged any broomWith peach pallets for a front porchAnd a Good Book with pages faded brownShe’d read and rock her child back n forthAnd that humble porch became that town’sfirst Baptist Church , where all who search will be foundAnd souls of little means, will always be seenBy the Maker of the universeIn the first Baptist ChurchShe earned their suppers in that cabinTeaching letters and ‘rithmeticAnd she’d gather children ‘round, learning them the cross n crownSundays on a hick’ry stump by Houston crickLotsa the youngsters in her classesHad fathers in the cavalryAnd whispers used to complain, she’d read from her King JamesTo homeless Commanche orphans on her kneeSo when her son made an oak branch steepleAnd stuck it on top of their shackShe made clear all shades of peopleWere welcome to worship atThe first Baptist Church , where all who search will be foundAnd souls of little means, will always be seenBy the Maker of the universeIn the first Baptist ChurchWell, Gramma told me that story, when I was five or six‘round back of a church house, made of marble and brickWe stood by a cross in some grass, that spoke of holy graceAnd where once was an old cabin, that church stood in its placeCos it was Gramma’s Gramma who taughtFaith is worth the strongest fightShe proved wherever folks praise God Then that building or crick is likethat first Baptist church…that first Baptist church©2007 Robert George