Joe Stevens of New Town Band
From Sawiki
If you should go to New Town,
And hear the Army Band,
There's something that will strike you,
And, mind the playing's grand!
It is the bandsmen's spirit
Of friendship, warm and free;
Their longing to point sinners
To Christ of Calvary.
And if you ask the reason
For this, their hearts desire,
They tell of old Joe Stevens,
And Sergeant Jonnie Squire.
Who used, they say, to grumble
At all e'er said or done;
Find fault with all the living
Except his mother's son!
One bandsman in partic'lar
He never could condone;
And that was Brother Stevens,
Who played the slide trombone.
This comrade, true and faithful,
For years had done his best,
And did not think it needful
Than he should take his rest.
But John, his thoughts were different,
And oft he cast a sneer
On Brother Steven's playing,
With finger in his ear.
One day, while in the band room,
He cried with bitter ire;
"It's time we put out Stevens,
Or got him to retire.
He can't read our new music,
Nor marching keep in pace.
He ought to know he's useless,
And give to me his place."
Poor Stevens had been listening
While drawing near the door,
His heart sank low within him,
He stumbled on the floor.
But no, he must not falter,
He'd always done the right,
And this was just a hindrance.
Perhaps the lad was right.
So when they all were leaving,
The practice once more o'er,
He drew aside the leader,
And feeling pretty sore.
He said in just a whisper,
While mist confused his sight.
"Here's my trombone and music,
I'm leaving you tonight."
The leader tried to soothe him
"No, not tonight," he said,
"We'll think the matter over."
But Stevens shook his head.
"The band wants me no longer,"
The tears began to fall.
"No, I have quite decided."
And then he left the hall.
But thinking o'er the parting,
He'd not proceeded far,
Joe failed to see approaching
A swiftly moving car.
A shout, a crash and Stevens
Lay like a person dead;
A leg and arm were broken,
And blood streamed from his head.
A doctor who was passing
Soon rendered Joe first-aid;
And quickly had the patient
To hospital conveyed.
But poor old Joe was dying
"My time," he gasped "has come
And friends I love are waiting
To give me welcome home."
Next Sunday in the band room,
The men their fears declared;
But earnest prayers were offered
That Joe's life might be spared.
He'd asked if John would see him,
His old trombone would bring.
"'Twould stir," Joe said, "blessed mem'ries
Of battles for the King."
John went, though feeling awkward,
And, drawing near the bed,
Saw Joe, his old eyes radiant
Beneath his bandaged head.
They talked of bands and comrades
As hand was clasped in hand,
Till Joe, in sudden triumph
Passed to the Golden Strand.
The nurse, a moment later,
On coming round the screen,
Found John, in sorrow kneeling.
A change in both there'd been.
So now they've made John Sergeant;
He leads the men in prayer.
He's first at indoor meetings
And first at open-air.
If you should go to New Town,
And hear the Army Band,
There's something that will strike you,
And, mind the playing's grand!
It is the bandsmen's spirit
Of friendship, warm and free;
Their longing to point sinners
To Christ of Calvary.
And if you ask the reason
For this, their hearts desire,
They tell of old Joe Stevens,
And Sergeant Jonnie Squire.
Bandsman James L. Ramsbottom
