Here is a link to an image of the poem as presented!
The Civil war was close at hand when we began our life,
a group of German Lutherans would unite amid the strife.
The congregation prospered and grew along the way,
this was the beginning of St. John's we know today.
They built a church to praise the lord, a testament of love,
for they had felt the hand of God, a blessing from above.
Their cathedral on the Bowery would rise atop the land,
a tribute to the God they loved, proud, alive and grand.
The immigrants who built its walls in tribute to their God,
were hardy working people who toiled where horses trod.
The butcher and the baker and the banker up the street,
would all be equal under God whenever they would meet.
Built by many caring hands when splendor was the norm,
this tribute to the craftsmen's art has weathered every storm.
The mighty and the humble would gather here to pray,
to worship in this holy place where cares would fade away.
Its warm and welcome feeling has lasted through the years,
the scene of countless happy times and, sadly, many tears.
The writing on the window glass recalls a bygone day,
reminders of a German past that somehow slipped away.
With windows in the upper apse aglow in morning light,
the altar fills with sunshine and we know that all is right.
Communion rails are polished by the touch of every hand,
and music from the organ pipes flows gently o'er the land.
The steeple can he seen for blocks, it seems to stand alone,
a beacon to the families who call this church their own.
But a church is not a building standing tall upon the land,
it's a gathering of faithful who feel God's loving hand.
It's time to reach outside ourselves, our doors must open
wide.
We must go among our neighbors and welcome them inside.
The neighborhood will rise again, we'll face a brighter day,
St. John's is equal to the task, for God still leads the way.
Written by William E. Ogren
November 5, 2000 ©
