> An old farmer went to the city one weekend and attended the big city
> church.  He came home and his wife asked him how it was.  "Well," said the
> farmer, " It was good.  They did something different, however.  They sang
> praise choruses instead of hymns."
> "Praise choruses,' said his wife, "What are those?"
> "Oh, they're okay.  They're sort of like hymns, only different," said the
> farmer.  
> "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, CORN, CORN, CORN,' Then, if I were to repeat
> the whole thing two or three times, well that would be a praise chorus."
> 
> THE REBUTTAL, SO TO SPEAK:
> A young, new Christian went to his local church usually, but one weekend
> he attended a small town church.  He came home and his wife asked him how
> it was.
> "Well," said the young man, "It was good.  They did something different
> however, 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 com,' 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, inimitable, glorious truth.
> 
> For the way of the animals who can explain
> There in their heads is no shadow of sense,
> Here rest they in God'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!"