♪ ♪ ♪ On Sunday nights long ago ♪ ♪ in that little white church
that I love so, ♪ after we sang,
“Oh, pass me not,” ♪ ♪ for those who did not know
the Lamb of God, ♪ ♪ we would thank Him ♪ ♪ for His grace, ♪ ♪ then before we parted ways, ♪ ♪ every neighbor would extend ♪ ♪ the right hand
of fellowship. ♪ ♪ ‘Cause all it meant, ♪ ♪ was, “I’ll be there, ♪ ♪ and I’ll remember you
in my prayers.” ♪ ♪ It made family
out of friends, ♪ ♪ the right hand
of fellowship. ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Those old-time ways
are almost gone ♪ ♪ ’cause we’re not sure
who can be counted on. ♪ ♪ We’re not concerned
like we should be ♪ ♪ about our brother’s burdens
or his needs. ♪ ♪ Sometimes
when evening shadows fall, ♪ ♪ I hear the ghost
of those old gospel songs. ♪ ♪ With all my heart,
I ache to grip ♪ ♪ the right hand
of fellowship. ♪ ♪ ‘Cause all it meant ♪ ♪ was, “I’ll be there, ♪ ♪ and I’ll remember you
in my prayers.” ♪ ♪ It made family
out of friends, ♪ ♪ the right hand
of fellowship. ♪ ♪ Well, it made family
out of friends, ♪ ♪ the right hand ♪ ♪ of fellowship. ♪ ♪ Of fellowship. ♪ [cheers and applause]