The Cows are in the Corn!

A farmer went to the city one weekend and attended a large church. He came
home and his wife asked him how it was.

"Well," said the farmer, "it was good. They did something different,
though. They sang choruses instead of hymns."

"What are choruses?" asked his wife.

"Oh, they're okay," said the farmer; "they're sort of like hymns, only
different."

"Well, what's the difference?" asked his wife.

The farmer said, "Well, it's like this. If I were to say to you,

'Martha, the cows are in the corn,' well, that would be a hymn. If on the
other hand, I were to say to you,

'Martha, Martha, Martha, Oh Martha, Martha, Martha,
The cows, the big cows, the brown cows, the black cows,
The white cows, the black and white cows,
The cows, cows, cows are in the corn,
Are in the corn, are in the corn, are in the corn,
The corn, corn, corn,'

Then if I were to repeat the whole thing two or three times, well, that
would be a chorus."

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Coincidentally, the same week, a young businessman from the city who
normally attended a church with a contemporary ­style worship service was in
the farmer's town on business and attended the farmer's small ­town church.
When he came home, his wife asked him how it was.

"Well," said the young man, "it was good. But they did something different.
They sang hymns instead of regular songs."

"Hymns," said his wife, "what are those?"

"Oh, they're okay. They're sort of like regular songs, only different, said
the young man.

"Well, what's the difference?" asked his wife.

The young man said, "Well, it's like this. If I were to say to you,
'Martha, the cows are in the corn,' well, that would be a regular song. If
on the other hand, I were to say to you

'Oh Martha, dear Martha, hear thou my cry,
Inclinest thine ear to the words of my mouth.
Turn thou thy whole wondrous ear by and by
To the righteous, inimitible glorious truth.

For the way of the animals, who can explain
There in their heads is no shadow of sense,
Hearkenest they in G-d's sun or His rain
Unless from the mild, tempting corn they are fenced.

Yea, those cows in glad bovine, rebellious delight
Have broke free their shackles, their warm pens eschewed.
Then goaded by minions of darkness and night
They all my mild Chilliwack sweet corn have chewed.

So look to that bright shining day by and by,
Where all foul corruptions of earth are reborn,
Where no vicious animal makes my soul cry
And I no longer see those foul cows in the corn.'

Then if I were to do only verses one, three, and four, and do a key change
on the last verse, well, that would be a hymn."