The Deacon Goes for His Sunday Paper

Good morning, good morning, it is a good morning,
We all ought to be in good spirits this morning.
The sky seems so peaceful, the sunshine is warm,
What’s that? What’s that? Oh, the fire alarm.

I like to get out and see how the town
Appears Sunday morning, why, as I came down
I thought what a friendly respectable air
Our Main Street has— Of course nobody’s there

Trading today, but as I walked by
The window displays were a treat to the eye,
It made me thank heaven that I wasn’t blind
To the best of the best little towns you can find.

Now what’s in the paper . . . the news is our light:
‘‘Town Marshal Shot in a Cafe Last Night.’’
What’s the world coming to, shooting and churning . . .
You say that the Methodist Church is BURNING?