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| PRAISES FROM THE HILL |
| Some years ago, when I was a child, I lived down the road, 'bout a half mile From the big house that was atop a hill It was lived in by the man who ran the mill. Corn he did grind from morn til night, Other times he was always out of sight. But at night time you could faintly hear, The sound of music floating down the hill. On a clear and quiet night, you could hear singing Such a soulful sound as it came ringing. I wanted to know where the music came from So I asked if we could visit, "NO", and I asked, "Why come?" "We don't know that man, my mother would say, I had rather that you stay away." Well I said, "Yes mam, I understand." But just how long did I keep that command. Children will be as children will be, So I had made up my mind, that I would see. What was going on up that hill, in that old house. So I was going to sneak out, as quiet as a mouse. The moon was shining bright that night, and the sky was full of stars, what a sight. I had never seen the old house after dark, So I was amiss about going in the yard. I never remembered it being so foreboding Was this my guilty conscience overloading? Well I didn't promise, I just understood, But I vaguely recall, she didn't say I could. Now, that's over , I hear the music now, Floating through the air like a cloud. It was so beautiful, yet a bit sad too It was piano, and a voice so blue. I stepped on the porch with a purpose in mind To get an invitation to come inside. I knocked on the door lightly, with no response, Then a bit louder, and the music stopped. The shuffle of feet, coming to the door, My chance to run and come back no more. But as those fleeting thoughts crossed my mind. A voice I heard, "Won't you come inside." With a lump in my throat, and the pounding of my heart, I failed to reply, cause he gave me such a start. "Well hello young man, are you coming in or not, Or are you going to spend the night in that spot." Finally, I got myself together and said "Thank you sir", And went inside and got quite a stir, All around the room were candles on bases, The room was all lit up except for a few dark spaces. He began the conversation, by saying. "How nice to have you visit. Don't get much company around here, Folks are just too busy." Guess you heard me playing and singing, I do that every night since my Mrs. went to heaven. Every time I sing a song to praise the Lord above, I light a candle, to show Him my love. Not much to do here anymore all alone, So I spend my evenings making music to my Mrs and the Lord. Say, what's your name boy, you live down the way? I've seen you coming by for a look sometimes during the day. Checking out the old place, were you son. Well, now you know, nothing here for children to have fun. Well sir, let me tell you why I'm really here, I've been hearing this music that goes by my ears. It sounds so soulful and sad, yet happy some how, I really wanted to come and meet you, can I hear you play now? The old man got to the piano and before he sat down, He lit another candle and added it to those all around. As his fingers touched the keys, there was a feeling of love in the room. I listened as he began to give voice, To the melody he was playing, a beautiful tune. I remained and listened for a while, and then realized my bedtime was past. I could hear my mother now, why did you disobey my request? The man sensed the trouble that was in my mind And offered to walk me home, and everything would be fine. As we down the moon lit road to my house, I happened to mention about being quiet as a mouse. The old man chuckled, and said, "I remember those days, When mama said no, and I'd do it anyways." It will be alright son, me and the Lord will straighten it out. We'll tell you mama what your curiosity is all about. Maybe one of these nights, they will want to come too And join in with the Praising to the Lord and Mrs. as we do. Written by Shirley Barr August 17, 2004 All Rights Reserved |
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