How to distinguish between hymns and praise songs

City versus country finds its differences in the story about two pastors who, as is the custom in some churches, trade pulpits during the summer months. The differences astounded them. The country parson attended his friend’s big city mega church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was.
“Well,” said the country pastor, “it was good. They did something different, however. They sang praise choruses instead of hymns.”

“Praise choruses?” said his wife. “What are those?”
They are sort of like hymns, only different,” said the pastor. “If I were to say: “Martha, the cows are in the corn”‘ – well, that would be a hymn. If on the other hand, I say to you:

‘Martha, Martha, Martha, Oh Martha, MARTHA, MARTHA,
the cows, the big cows, the brown cows, the black cows
the white cows, the black and white cows, the COWS, COWS, COWS
are in the corn, are in the corn, are in the corn, are in the corn, the CORN, CORN, CORN.’

Then, if I were to repeat the whole thing two or three times, well, that would be a praise chorus.”

The next weekend, his pastor from the city came to preach at the little country church. He went home and his wife asked him how it was.

“Well,” said the city pastor, “it was good. They did something different however. They sang hymns instead of regular songs.”

“Hymns?” asked his wife. “What are those?” (this is a very hip, pastor’s family)
They are sort of like regular songs, only different,” said the young preacher. “It’s like this – If I were to say to you: ‘Martha, the cows are in the corn’ – well, that would be a regular song. If on the other hand, I were to say to you:

‘Oh Martha, dear Martha, hear thou my cry
Inclinest thine ear to the words of my mouth
Turn thou thy whole wondrous ear by and by
To the righteous, inimitable, glorious truth.
For the way of the animals who can explain
There in their heads is no shadow of sense
Hearkenest they in God’s sun or His rain
Unless from the mild, tempting corn they are fenced.
Yea those cows in glad bovine, rebellious delight
Have broke free their shackles, their warm pens eschewed
Then goaded by minions of darkness and night
They all my mild Chilliwack sweet corn have chewed.
So look to the bright shining day by and by
Where all foul corruptions of earth are reborn
Where no vicious animals make my soul cry
And I no longer see those foul cows in the corn

Then if I were to do a key change on the last verse, well that would be a hymn.

🙂