From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 141-142.
CONSOLIDATION
Some towns have got too many preachers;
The signs of care are on their features.
They find the pasture very thin
And all their bones show through their skin.
Their wages small are slowly paid,
Their wives are sad and early fade.
If towns are small in population,
They should be all one congregation.
Let every burg consider whether
It might not worship all together.
Alike the hopes, alike the needs
For which our human nature pleads,
And brotherhood is more than creeds.
O let us, if our town is small,
Warmed by one furnace, in one hall,
Pray all for each and each for all.
Communities might be more happy
If they were kinder and less scrappy.
This spot of all the universe
Is ours for better or for worse.
We breathe alike its vital airs,
Concerned alike with its affairs.
To man it as our fathers manned,
[142]
To make it what the fathers planned,
Let’s join together in one bunch
And thereby magnify our punch.
We meet each other on the pike
And all of us are much alike.
In daily life the Baptist man
Joins with the Presbyterian,
And naught in either one, I wist.
Divides him from the Methodist.
We’re all alike in heart and soul;
Let’s join in one efficient whole
And knock old Satan for a goal.
Let’s keep one good fat preacher going,
Instead of three whose ribs are showing.