| I love a little church, a plain, old fashioned meeting-house,
Hard by a traveled road, or on a wind-swept hill; Where the people stand to sing: "All hail the power," And each reverent knee is bent before the heavenly will. I love the pleasant folks, neighbor-like and friendly; I love the bent gray heads that crowd the narrow pews; Restless children bobbing up and down upon the hard seats, While the preacher reads aloud the foreign mission news. There's a tuneful choir of frogs, somewhere in the hollow; Through the open window comes a breath of meadow-sweet. There's a holy stillness that is like a benediction, Making every little pew a perfect glory-seat. I've no religion that the dear Lord would be thinking of, But I love His little church wherever it may be. "Alas, and did my Saviour bleed," and "All hall the power," And "Holy, Holy, Holy,"____they are fine enough for me. |
The Call of Kansas and Other Poems
Esther M. (Clark) Hill
(Cedar Rapids: Torch Press. __)
Page 43
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