'Twas a little frame Country Church, standing over there.
Many times, I walked this way, under parents' loving care.
We had a special pew, room enough for a babe to have a bed,
As we sat quietly and listened to what the preacher said.
He was a man of God. The Spirit of God, through him, truly ran.
God's words he spoke to us. He was a Godly man.
We would sing the songs of old, about our Savior's love
And how awesome it would be when we get to Heaven above.
Our Church was out in the country, beside a lovely wood.
We'd listen to the gentle breeze blowing through the trees, as oft as we could.
It seemed so peaceful, the little Church ever so full of Grace.
Wouldn't it be a wonder, someday, just to go back and see this place?
I can almost hear the singing now, about how amazing was God's love;
How the river of life was ever flowing in Heaven, there, above.
When a soul was saved by grace, the Angels would shout and sing
For the victory of our Savior, to Heaven, more souls to bring.
There aren't as many little Churches, today, standing closely by.
We would have to go back to yesterday, maybe break down and cry.
But those days are gone forever. For, now, we have Churches of brick and stone.
But if we can still, in our hearts go back, then it's never really gone.
© by Pearlie Duncan Walker