I think that I shall never see
A church that’s all it ought to be:
A church whose members never stray
Beyond the strait and narrow way;
A church that has no empty pews,
Whose pastor never has the blues,
A church whose deacons always deak,
And none is proud, and all are meek;
Where gossips never peddle lies,
Or make complaints or criticize;
Where all are always sweet and kind,
And all to others’ faults are blind.
Such perfect churches there may be,
But none of them are known to me.
But still, we’ll work, and pray, and plan
To make our own the best we can.
