The old man went to worship
For the day was bright and clear,
Though the road was rough and dusty,
And it was hard to travel there.

But he hungered for the gospel
As he trudged the weary way
On the road so rough and dusty
Neath the summer's burning ray.

By and by he reached the building,
To his soul a Holy Place,
There he paused and wiped the sweat drops
Off his thin and wrinkled face.

Then he looked around bewildered,
For the old bell did not toll,
And the doors were shut and bolted,
And he did not see a soul.

Then he leaned upon his crutches,
And he said what does it mean,
and he looked this way and that way,
'Till it seemed almost a dream.

He had trudged the dusty by way,
And he breathed a heavy sigh,
Just to go to once more to worship
Before the summons came to die.

Then he saw a little notice
Tacked upon the church house door,
And he limped along to read it.
And he read it 'ore and 'ore.

Then he wiped his dusty glasses,
And he read it 'ore again,
Until his limbs began to tremble,
And his eyes began to pain.

As he read that little notice,
How it made his spirit burn
"Preacher absent on vacation,
Church is closed 'till his return".

So he staggered slowly backward,
And he sit him down to think,
In his heart he pondered until
He thought his soul would sink.

Then he pondered more and more,
Preacher absent on vacation,
Never heard the like before.
When I first became a Christian
Very many years ago.

Preaches traveled on the circuit.
In the heat and through the snow.
If they got their clothes and vittles.
'Twas but little cash they got,

They said nothing 'bout vacation,
But were happy in their lot
Would saint Paul get such a notion,
Would a Wesley or a Knox,

Would they in the heat of summer
Turn away their needy flock?
Did you ever know it happen.
Or hear anybody tell.

Satan absent on vacation,
Shutting up the doors of Hell?
Tell me when I tread that valley
And go up the shining heights,

Will I hear no angels singing,
Will I see no gleaming light?
Will the golden harps be silent,
Will I find no welcome there?

Why the thought is most distressing,
Would be more than I could bear.
Tell me when I reach that city
Over on the other shore

Will I find a little notice ,
Tacked upon the Golden Door,
Telling me in dreadful silence,
Writ in words that cut and burn,

"Jesus absent on vacation,
Heaven closed 'till His return"?