The Reverend Mister Hugby Jones,
Lived in Small Town, U.S.A.
He had a reputation,
Of giving hugs away.
A short man and a pudgy one,
As wide as he was tall,
He was designed with hugs in mind,
And was well-pillowed overall.
Sundays he would preach at church,
He'd use wise and thoughtful words,
This man could talk direct to God,
Like no one ever heard.
He'd stand on tiptoes at his pulpit,
His voice booming out to God,
He'd raise his chubby arms in praise,
His smile always broad.
Then when his sermon ended,
And the choir sang their hymn,
He'd say the benediction,
And give an amen grin.
Then at the nearest exit,
He'd assume a God Bless stance,
His arms in wide position,
For big hug deliverance.
Now, if the truth be known,
(Which surely bears no shame).
This was the church's drawing card,
And why so many came.
For he hugged everybody,
Women, babies, kids and men,
And if they waited long enough,
He'd go through the line again.
Sometimes his short, fat arms,
Simply could not reach around,
But if he stood upon some steps,
He could hug necks, he found.
Hugs to sermons, he had learned,
Were wholly tantamount,
Thus, there was no need for words,
Just let the good hugs count.
He was the preacher man of choice,
For weddings, funerals, and births,
And all his ceremonies ended,
With the warmest hugs on earth.
One day Hugby up and died,
And he went home to God,
 God gave Hugby holy hugs,
And Hugby was in awe.
God had taught him long ago,
About the worth of hugs,
That they showed far more than words.
The wonders of God's love.
Hugby now spends all his time,
With Saint Peter at the gate,
Hugging new arrivals,
While all heaven celebrates.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright October 2002

Click on the Widow Missus Hugby Jones to read about her...


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I do not know the souce of this music, but if anyone can tell me, I would love to give the proper credit.