A Funny Little Story about Hymns and Praise Songs
Author Unknown
An old farmer went to the
city one weekend and attended the big city church. He came home and his wife asked him how it
was.
“Well,” said the farmer. “It
was good. They did something different, however. They sang praise choruses
instead of hymns.”
“Praise choruses?” asked the
wife. “What are those?”
“Oh, they’re okay. They’re sort of like hymns, only different,”
said the farmer.
“Well, what’s the difference?”
asked the wife.
The farmer said, “Well it’s
like this….If I were to say to you, ‘Martha, the cows are in the corn,’ well
that would be a hymn. If, on the other hand, I were to say to you,
‘Martha, Martha, Martha, Oh, Martha, MARTHA, MARTHA,
the cows, the big cows, the brown cows, the black cows, the white cows, the black and white cows,
the COWS, COWS, COWS are in the corn,
are in the corn, are in the corn, in the CORN, CORN, CORN, COOOOORRRRRNNNNN’
Then, if I were to repeat the
whole thing two or three times, well that would be a praise chorus.”
As luck would have it, the
exact same Sunday a young new Christian from the city church attended the small
town church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was.
“Well,” said the young man. “It
was good. They did something different, however. They sang hymns instead of
regular songs.”
“Hymns?” asked the wife. “What
are those?”
“They’re okay. There’re sort
of like regular songs, only different.” said the young man.
“Well, what’s the difference?”
asked the wife.
The young man said, “Well it’s
like this….If I were to say to you ‘Martha, the cows are in the corn’ well that
would be a regular song. If on the other
hand, I were to say to you
Oh Martha, dear Martha, hear thou my cry
Inclinest thine ear to the words of my mouth.
Turn thou thy whole wondrous ear by and
by
To the righteous, glorious truth.
For the way of the animals who can
explain
There in their head is no shadow of
sense,
Hearkenest they in God’s sun or His rain
Unless from the mild, tempting corn they
are fenced.
Yea those cows in glad bovine,
rebellious delight,
Have broke free their shackles, their
warm pens eschewed.
Then goaded by minions of darkness and
night
They all my mild Chilliwack sweet corn
chewed.
So look to that bright shining day by
and by.
Where all foul corruptions of earth are
reborn
Where no vicious animal makes my soul cry
And I no longer see those foul cows in
the corn.
Then, if I were to do only
verses one, three and four, and change keys on the last verse, well that would
be a hymn.”
