During a twenty year period, from 1978 until 1998, I was a member of a small Baptist congregation which met faithfully, prayerfully and unpretentiously in a little rock church house in the Ozark Mountains of south central Missouri. As was the case with many country churches of the time, it’s membership consisted largely of precious old souls who were the product of a time which is unfamiliar and unimaginable to those of us who were not ourselves ravaged by age at that time, or have glimpsed that singularly unique time in faded, dog-eared albums, or heard the wispy voices of those who were there and share their recollections. It was a special time, a time never to be forgotten and unlikely to be repeated. During the two remarkable decades that I was blessed to worship with these dear old saints, rarely did a service conclude without our congregation rising, hymnals in hand, to join voices in one particular old hymn that soon became one of my favorites. From that time to this, that hymn has been my prayer. It’s my prayer now.
God be with you till we meet again,
By his counsel’s guide, uphold you,
With his sheep securely fold you,
God be with you till we meet again.