| |
| We don't have a big cathedral |
| With a bright and shiny dome; |
| Just a humble little building, |
| But it kinda makes you feel at home. |
| We don't own a grand pipe organ, |
| Or a choir in uniform array; |
| But the power of God is present |
| When our deacons kneel to pray. |
| |
| Our congregation isn't large |
| And our incomes aren't great; |
| And we have no wealthy people |
| Loading up the offering plate. |
| Yet we'll never have to close our doors |
| Because our debts we cannot pay, |
| 'Cause the Father hears and answers |
| When our deacons kneel to pray |
| |
| Now I've never really been there |
| But I know what I've been told |
| About these men who meet so faithfully |
| To pray for the young and old. |
| And I cannot help but realize |
| The results along the way |
| When the pastor joins the deacons |
| And they kneel again to pray. |
| |
| They aren't chosen for their knowledge |
| For their fortune, fame or power, |
| But they've given their all to Jesus |
| Serving Him each day -- Each hour. |
| And I know this is the reason |
| That the blessings come our way |
| 'Cause the power of God is present |
| When our deacons kneel to pray. |
| |
| I like to think we are a family |
| Losing self in helping others |
| And the deacons -- well, to me -- |
| They're kinda like big brothers. |
| And when we are having trials |
| And our skies seem dark and gray |
| I just know our names are uttered |
| As our deacons kneel to pray. |
| |
| Sometimes I wish that I could be |
| Just close enough to hear them pray |
| To feel the presence of the Lord |
| In such a real and mighty way. |
| To rejoice with them o'er victories |
| To weep with them for those astray |
| When the pastor and the deacons |
| At the altar kneel to pray. |
