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The Little Choir Boy
Each Sunday I would go to church.
I found it hard to pray,
I'd sit and wonder why the Lord
Had taken him away.
I'd hear them singing loud in praise,
Their faces lit with joy,
But only saw the vacant space
Once filled by my young boy.
And then one Sunday, somebody
Said softly in my ear,
"I know that you can't see him
But your little boy is here".
I wasn't shocked, I didn't scorn,
Surprised I was, but knew
Those words had come from heaven
And that, somehow, they were true
And as I listened and I looked
At that so vacant space,
A shaft of light brought into sight
A so familiar face.
I thanked the Lord, how could I think
A soul he could destroy?
Each Sunday now I go to church
And see my choir boy.
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