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I love the church that Jesus bought. She is the dark world's light; I always go on Sunday morn, But not on Sunday night. I love to sing the gospel songs. And worship in daylight; That's why I come on Sunday morn, But not on Sunday night I love to hear the gospel horn, It gives me such delight; It thrills me every Sunday morn. But not on Sunday night. I'd go through storm and rain, or snow Do anything that's right, to be at church on Sunday morn, But not on Sunday night. |
I hope the faithful few keep on engaging in the fight; I'll do my part on Sunday morn, But not on Sunday night. Too bad someday we all must die, I hope the morn is bright. For I want to die on Sunday morn, Not on Sunday night. I know that Christ is coming soon, And he will find me right. If he appears on Sunday morn, But--not on Sunday night. The Holy spirit sent this poem, It set my heart aright; You'll see me there next Sunday morn. And also on Sunday night. H.E.M. Snyder |
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