Photographer's Note

The Little Church

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.

lucasdasilva, Click3 has marked this note useful

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