I wish that all the world could know
The small town's "country church".
It's so much like the days of old,
Beside the spreading birch.
The broken hearts, that come there,
Receive an open arm
And we all know that every child
Is safe from any harm.
We do not teach the power plays
And, as the children grow,
They see the older kids help out;
With a sweetness we all know.
The pattern passes through the years
And excellence appears;
A tiny church with simple folk
And children that revere.
Sometimes, we eat together.
Sometimes, we sing a song.
Sometimes, we hold each other,
When someone loved is gone.
The greatest joy when 'someone new'
Lines up to live for Him
And a newborn soul, like any babe,
Is joy to all within.
I look around to see the change
Where great grandfather came.
He hitched his team outside the door.
He sang the songs the same.
And I recall each place where sat
The folks who mentored me.
I think of families moved on
And know that had to be.
But still, it thrives, the little church
Where people love the Lord
And know that God's love in your heart.
Is not a thing to hoard!