Now in the “amen corner” of the church sat Brother Eyer,
Who persisted every Sabbath-day in singing with the choir;
He was poor, but genteel-looking, and his heart as snow was white,
And his old face beamed with sweetness when he sang with all his might.
His voice was cracked and broken, age had touched his vocal chords,
And nearly every Sunday he would mispronounce the words
Of the hymns, and ’twas no wonder, he was old and nearly blind,
And the choir rattling onward always left him far behind.
Then the pastor called together in the lecture-room one day
Seven influential members who subscribe more than they pay,