(Verse 1)
The stained glass windows, a familiar, gentle gleam,
The worn-out hymnals, a half-forgotten dream.
My voice, once strong, now a whisper, soft and low,
A silent echo of the sermons long ago.
The doctor"s words, a hammer"s heavy blow,
"Your health demands, dear pastor, it"s time to let it go."
(Chorus)
Oh, the empty pulpit, a hollow, aching space,
Where words of grace once filled this sacred place.
My heart, a broken vessel, overflowing with the pain,
To preach the gospel"s truth, I"ll never do again.
The flock I loved, the stories left untold,
A shepherd"s heart grows weary, growing old.
(Verse 2)
The Sunday mornings, a bittersweet refrain,
The distant organ"s music, a lingering, soft pain.
I close my eyes, and see their faces, row by row,
The bowed heads, the tears that used to flow.
The comfort found in scripture, the hope that set them free,
Now just a memory, that haunts and troubles me.
(Bridge)
I know His plan is greater, though I can"t understand,
The reasons why He"s taken, this calling from my hand.
But still, the longing lingers, a fire in my soul,
To share the love of Jesus, and make the broken whole.
To guide the lost and weary, to lead them to the light,
A pastor"s deepest calling, burning ever bright.
(Verse 3)
I pray for those who gather, beneath another"s care,
That God"s own hand will guide them, and answer every prayer.
And though my voice is silent, and my strength begins to fade,
The love of Christ remains, a promise never swayed.
Perhaps my life"s new sermon, is in the quiet grace,
To trust His sovereign wisdom, and find my peaceful place.
(Outro)
The empty pulpit stands, a silent, solemn sign,
But in my heart, the gospel, will forever intertwine.
A shepherd"s love remains, though strength may disappear,
And God"s eternal presence, will always be so near.
JMichaelCurry
