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By a will not mine,
Four widows on time
Met to play bridge
Down in the valley
Of nothing,
As I prepared
My sermon,The four widoes had wed,
Two husbands were dead,
Two husbands saw red,
Two widows had fled,
As their hearts bled,
While they played bridge
For solace
Down in the valley
Of nothing.
As I read the Word,
Four giggles were heard,
Up from the valley
Of nothing;
But the sound was hollow,
With sighs of sorrow,
With nothing to follow
But bridge,
Down in the valley
Of nothing.
Two widows were Baptists,
Two were Methodists,
Playing bridge
Down the valley
Of nothing.
To prayer meeting,
They seldom go,
For it has no glow
Nor flow
Like playing bridge
Down the valley
Of nothing. |
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This valley of nothing
Is a big old place
Hoar with age
And sin,
Large enough
For all the race
And be covered in,
To make a teaming place
With women all over
The world.These women apace,
Careless Christians, race
Down to their valley
Of nothing;
Each other to face
On gambler’s ridge,
Playing bridge
Down in the valley
Of nothing.
Now and then a woman
Ventures up
And leaves her
Bridgeful friends
To make a move
With God to blend,
To get something
To hold on with
When her valley
Of nothing
Shall end. |
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But up from her bridge
A time,
She is so restless
Within,
She must try
Bridge again
As her only friend,
Back in the valley
Of nothing.It’s so soothing to
Her nerves,
It makes trouble swerve
Away from her mind
With her bridge kind
Down the valley
Of nothing,
They are too polite
To grin,
But whisper behind
Their hand;
Poor thing!
See how hungry
She is
For sin.
Fill her up,
Cram her full
To the brim,
Till too heavy
To climb out
Again. |
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