509 words on

A poetic masterpiece:

After generations of service, the pipe organ at First Baptist Church in Dayton, Ohio finally broke down.

“How much will it cost to fix?” said the pastor.

“Oh—” the technician said, “it’s beyond repair.”

The pastor looked down and nodded. “How much to replace it then?” He looked up.

The technician drew a rag from his back pocket. “An instrument like this,” he wiped his hands, “maybe eighty thousand?”

The church appointed a committee to raise funds. They called each member of the congregation, soliciting donations. After hundreds of calls, they raised fifty thousand dollars. Still short. To make up the difference, the committee hired a direct-response copywriter to write a sales letter. His copy, but 115 words, drove forty thousand donation dollars.

A few reasons it worked so well:

One, it went out to a warm, highly receptive list.

Two, the copy is technically sound, clear, concise, and easy to read.

Three, it’s nostalgic and poetic, compelling. The copywriter used rhetorical devices, including anaphora and the rule of three to create a rhythmic cadence. The words flow like a sermon.

Let’s read it:

Dear [Church Member],

Nothing gives like a church organ.

It gives joy at weddings; strength at funerals; family greetings at baptisms.

It gives wings to worship; power to praise; humility to Thanksgiving.

It gives rest to the weary; welcome to strangers; binding ties to friends.

It gives to congregations of sons who follow fathers and then gives way to sons and sons again.

It finally gives itself.

For over five generations the present church organ at First Baptist has given, freely, generously, bounteously without stint. Think of an organ’s gifts, as you have received them; as your children will in days to come.

Then give to a church organ, like a church organ…freely,

generously, bounteously…without stint.

[Pastor’s Signature]

Now, let’s focus on just the opening.

Note the nostalgia:

It gives joy at weddings; strength at funerals; family greetings at baptisms.

It gives wings to worship; power to praise; humility to Thanksgiving.

It gives rest to the weary; welcome to strangers; binding ties to friends.

The copywriter connected these memories to the pipe organ and, in turn, to the church, the congregation, the community itself. He dimensionalized its true value. He put it in perspective. He gave it weight. And he did so rhythmically, elegantly, like a poet.

Note the anaphora:

It gives joy at weddings; strength at funerals; family greetings at baptisms.

It gives wings to worship; power to praise; humility to Thanksgiving.

It gives rest to the weary; welcome to strangers; binding ties to friends.

Note the rule of three:

It gives joy at weddings; strength at funerals; family greetings at baptisms.

It gives wings to worship; power to praise; humility to Thanksgiving.

It gives rest to the weary; welcome to strangers; binding ties to friends.

The copywriter lyrically tied the emotions of these events to a pipe organ, this inanimate, lifeless thing. And in doing so, he gave it life—meaning and significance—because he made it about The Reader.

He made it personal.

Amen.