|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. __)