Sundays' the Best

My Mom's older sister Lenore (Cornwall), had a gift for writing: plays, stories, poetry . . .
When their family lived in CA. they ended up in a ward with no one to play the piano for Priesthood meeting, except for a man that confessed he could only play . . . "Chopsticks".
My uncle Shirl, was musical, and I'm sure, because of his eagerness to direct, Lenore humored him with this little rendition that was used for quite a few Priesthood meetings after that:

Sundays' the Best

A New Hymn to the Familiar Tune of "Chopsticks")

(Chorus)

Sunday, Oh! Sunday

There's no day like Sunday

Of every day,

Sunday's the best.

Free from our labor,

We greet friends and neighbors,

For Sunday is our day of rest.

Verse One

We all go to Church

Where we join in the search
For the answer
"What's Life all about?"
We sing and we pray
And we reverently say
We have found it
Without any doubt . . .oh

Verse Two
We all love it so
From the first bright, Hello!
To tje last fond farewell
And Amen.
Though we fuss and we fret
We know Sunday
is coming again . . .and

Verse Three
The Bishop goes oon
From the first crack of dawn
He's the last one to
Turn off the light.
But he would agree
That there's no way that he
Could go on until Saturday night . . .

Verse Four
The whole world is humming
The end may be coming
Before it does,
All need to know
That Misses and Misters
Are Brothers and Siters
And Father loves
All of us so . . .

End Chorus
He given us Sunday
There's no day like Sunday