The New Church Organ
They 've got a brand-new organ, Sue,For all their fuss and search;They've done just as they said they'd do,And fetched it into church.They're bound the critter shall be seen,And on the preacher's rightThey've hoisted up their new machine,In every body's sight.They've got a chorister and choir,Ag'in' my voice and vote;For it was never my desire,To praise the Lord by note!
I've been a sister good an' trueFor five-an'-thirty year;I've done what seemed my part to do,An' prayed my duty clear;I've sung the hymns both slow and quick,Just as the preacher read,And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick,I took the fork an' led!And now, their bold, new-fangled waysIs comin' all about;And I, right in my latter days,Am fairly crowded out!
To-day the preacher, good old dear,With tears all in his eyes,Read, "I can read my title clearTo mansions in the skies."I al'ays liked that blessed hymn--I s'pose I al'ays will;It somehow gratifies my whim,In good old Ortonville;But when that choir got up to sing,I couldn't catch a word;They sung the most dog-gondest thingA body ever heard!
Some worldly chaps was standin' near;An' when I see them grin,I bid farewell to every fear,And boldly waded in.I thought I'd chase their tune along,An' tried with all my might;But though my voice is good an' strong,I couldn't steer it right;When they was high, then I was low,An' also contrawise;An' I too fast, or they too slow,To "mansions in the skies."
An' after every verse, you know,They play a little tune;I didn't understand, an' soI started in too soon.I pitched it pretty middlin' high,I fetched a lusty tone,But oh, alas! I found that IWas singin' there alone!They laughed a little, I am told;But I had done my best;And not a wave of trouble rolledAcross my peaceful breast.
And Sister Brown--I could but look--She sits right front of me;She never was no singin'-book,An' never went to be;But then she al'ays tried to doThe best she could, she said;She understood the time right through,An' kep' it with her head;But when she tried this mornin', oh,I had to laugh, or cough!It kep' her head a-bobbin' so,It e'en a'most came off!
An' Deacon Tubbs--he all broke down,As one might well suppose;He took one look at Sister Brown,And meekly scratched his nose.He looked his hymn-book through and through,And laid it on the seat,And then a pensive sigh he drew,And looked completely beat.An' when they took another bout,He didn't even rise;But drawed his red bandanner out,An' wiped his weepin' eyes.
I've been a sister, good an' true,For five-an'-thirty year;I've done what seemed my part to do,An' prayed my duty clear;But Death will stop my voice, I know,For he is on my track;And some day I to church will go,And never more come back;And when the folks gets up to sing--Whene'er that time shall be--I do not want no patent thingA-squealin' over me!
Words in this poem
- fuss n.
- A tumult; a bustle; unnecessary or annoying ado about trifles. [Cf. Fusome.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- fairly adv.
- In a fairmanner; clearly; openly; plainly; fully; distinctly; frankly.
- somehow adv.
- In one way or another; in some way not yet known or designated; by some means; as, the thing must be done somehow; he lives somehow.
- grin n.
- A snare; a gin. [AS. grin.]
- boldly adv.
- In a bold manner. [AS. bealdlice.]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- broke v. i.
- To transact business for another. Brome. [See Broker, and cf. Brook.]
- meekly adv.
- In a meek manner.
- folks n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The New Church Organ is in the public domain. This text is taken from Farm Ballads, Project Gutenberg ebook #9500; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Will Carleton, The New Church Organ, in Farm Ballads (1873), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #9500, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/carleton-farm-ballads/the-new-church-organ.html, id L23279.
Form and metre
The New Church Organ is 96 lines in 8 stanzas of 12 lines each. Every stanza rhymes ABABCDCDEFEF. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABCDCDEFEF sueA · searchB · doA · churchB · seenC · rightD · machineC · sightD · choirE · voteF · desireE · noteF
- 2 ABABCDCDEFEF trueA · yearB · doA · clearB · quickC · readD · sickC · ledD · waysE · aboutF · daysE · outF
- 3 ABABCDCDEFEF dearA · eyesB · clearA · skiesB · hymnC · willD · whimC · ortonvilleD · singE · wordF · thingE · heardF
- 4 ABABCDCDEFEF nearA · grinB · fearA · inB · alongC · mightD · strongC · rightD · lowE · contrawiseF · slowE · skiesF
- 5 ABABCDCDEFEF knowA · tuneB · soA · soonB · highC · toneD · iC · aloneD · toldE · bestF · rolledE · breastF
- 6 ABABCDCDEFEF lookA · meB · bookA · beB · doC · saidD · throughC · headD · ohE · coughF · soE · offF
- 7 ABABCDCDEFEF downA · supposeB · brownA · noseB · throughC · seatD · drewC · beatD · boutE · riseF · outE · eyesF
- 8 ABABCDCDEFEF trueA · yearB · doA · clearB · knowC · trackD · goC · backD · singE · beF · thingE · meF
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| They 've got a brand-new organ, Sue, | 9 | ······/˘· |
| For all their fuss and search; | 6 | ······ |
| They've done just as they said they'd do, | 8 | ········ |
| And fetched it into church. | 6 | ······ |
| They're bound the critter shall be seen, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And on the preacher's right | 6 | ···/˘· |
| They've hoisted up their new machine, | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| In every body's sight. | 7 | ·/˘˘/˘· |
| They've got a chorister and choir, | 9 | ···/˘˘·/˘ |
| Ag'in' my voice and vote; | 6 | ˘/···· |
| For it was never my desire, | 9 | ···/˘·˘/˘ |
| To praise the Lord by note! | 6 | ······ |
| I've been a sister good an' true | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| For five-an'-thirty year; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I've done what seemed my part to do, | 8 | ········ |
| An' prayed my duty clear; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I've sung the hymns both slow and quick, | 8 | ········ |
| Just as the preacher read, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I took the fork an' led! | 6 | ······ |
| And now, their bold, new-fangled ways | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Is comin' all about; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And I, right in my latter days, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Am fairly crowded out! | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| To-day the preacher, good old dear, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| With tears all in his eyes, | 6 | ······ |
| Read, "I can read my title clear | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To mansions in the skies." | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| I al'ays liked that blessed hymn-- | 7 | ······· |
| I s'pose I al'ays will; | 6 | ······ |
| It somehow gratifies my whim, | 8 | ·/·/˘··· |
| In good old Ortonville; | 7 | ······· |
| But when that choir got up to sing, | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| I couldn't catch a word; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| They sung the most dog-gondest thing | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| A body ever heard! | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Some worldly chaps was standin' near; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| An' when I see them grin, | 6 | ······ |
| I bid farewell to every fear, | 9 | ···/·/˘˘· |
| And boldly waded in. | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| I thought I'd chase their tune along, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| An' tried with all my might; | 6 | ······ |
| But though my voice is good an' strong, | 8 | ········ |
| I couldn't steer it right; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| When they was high, then I was low, | 8 | ········ |
| An' also contrawise; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| An' I too fast, or they too slow, | 8 | ········ |
| To "mansions in the skies." | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| An' after every verse, you know, | 9 | ···/˘˘··· |
| They play a little tune; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I didn't understand, an' so | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| I started in too soon. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| I pitched it pretty middlin' high, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I fetched a lusty tone, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| But oh, alas! I found that I | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Was singin' there alone! | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| They laughed a little, I am told; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But I had done my best; | 6 | ······ |
| And not a wave of trouble rolled | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Across my peaceful breast. | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| And Sister Brown--I could but look-- | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| She sits right front of me; | 6 | ······ |
| She never was no singin'-book, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| An' never went to be; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| But then she al'ays tried to do | 8 | ········ |
| The best she could, she said; | 6 | ······ |
| She understood the time right through, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| An' kep' it with her head; | 6 | ······ |
| But when she tried this mornin', oh, | 8 | ········ |
| I had to laugh, or cough! | 6 | ······ |
| It kep' her head a-bobbin' so, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| It e'en a'most came off! | 6 | ······ |
| An' Deacon Tubbs--he all broke down, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| As one might well suppose; | 6 | ····˘/ |
| He took one look at Sister Brown, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And meekly scratched his nose. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| He looked his hymn-book through and through, | 8 | ········ |
| And laid it on the seat, | 6 | ······ |
| And then a pensive sigh he drew, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And looked completely beat. | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| An' when they took another bout, | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| He didn't even rise; | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| But drawed his red bandanner out, | 8 | ········ |
| An' wiped his weepin' eyes. | 6 | ······ |
| I've been a sister, good an' true, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| For five-an'-thirty year; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I've done what seemed my part to do, | 8 | ········ |
| An' prayed my duty clear; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| But Death will stop my voice, I know, | 8 | ········ |
| For he is on my track; | 6 | ······ |
| And some day I to church will go, | 8 | ········ |
| And never more come back; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And when the folks gets up to sing-- | 8 | ········ |
| Whene'er that time shall be-- | 7 | ······· |
| I do not want no patent thing | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| A-squealin' over me! | 6 | ······ |
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