What town is this,
Shuttered and closed?
What town is this
Whom Fate hast shoaled?
Are not its buildings aging?
Are not its streets degrading?
What of its stores, stations, and salons of old?
What of the gin that is no more?
What happened to the town of old,
Along these tracks through field and pasture?
What happened to its once graced stature?
Was this not all once foretold?
Its history is only outlined at best,
Known for an outlaw's birthplace,
Nothing more, nothing less.
But aren't there more stories than this bit of lore?
Aren't there tales of faithful families and more?
What do these boards speak to
And these bricks have to tell?
Are not these hallowed grounds known so well?
The façades may be worn
And the buildings forlorn,
But these streets do hold more,
Much more than I can explore.
Down the main street we shall go,
Past the worn storefronts of old,
Past the post office much newer,
And water tower found in glimmer.
No, something much greater still stands this day,
Something of grandeur that shall never cease to stay,
Something to show the remaining the Way—
A house of prayer, a place of peace.
What is this I hear,
In this town so worn?
Is not a chorus raising,
A community of believers still praising?
How can they praise where opulence has faded,
Where like the creeks' waters have now dissipated?
How can they so gloriously sing
To a God whom they prayed but have not received?
Look closer, my friends; look closer indeed.
See all the joy this night, in word and in deed!
It too is much greater than any building or wonder,
For naught is a city that has so much wonder!
What place is there,
What place of peace!
What place is there,
What house of prayer!
What miracles hast He worked!
What miracles unseen!
Surely there are more,
Much more than are believed!
It is once again Christmas night,
The town restored in colored lights,
But it's inside where the joy is at last,
Where blessings are found—delights of the past!
Generations gather together;
One after another they gather,
Generation after generation of families,
To praise a God who has blest them with His favor.
In chorus raising,
Voices are praising
Their Creator blessed
With songs of praise.
For it's in the past times of struggle
And in the past times of pain
That they remember always the small joys,
The little things that take their breath away.
And still they praise,
For it's the little joys they still seek there.
For where only a dying town once stood,
Now shines a House of Prayer.