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A country church nestled in a peaceful valley,
Against a glorious backdrop of tall mountains,
That were fashioned before Eden’s retched  malady,
That beset the human soul and rich surroundings.

Beautiful dog-wood trees with blossoms snowy white,
Bounded by rocks as old as the picturesque hills,
From the top of a tall pine tree comes an invite,
To join a songbird’s sweet song flowing like a rill.

The little rural church with a green shingled roof,
And clapboard siding whose paint is now a dull white,
It’s tall steeple calling all to centuries’ proof,
That the worship of God is our most scared birthright.

Light bluish-green walls are fading fast as the years,
From years of witnessing by many faithful ones,
God’s people, absorbing celebration and tears,
Triumphs, disappointment, woes and undeserved scorn.

The gray ceiling of weathered tongue and groove bear,
The testimony of untold rising prayers,
Humble petitions and pleas offered to God’s ear,
Many days and months that turned into scores of years.

The well-worn aisles bear patent witness of traveled miles,
To the Table where they ate bread and the cup drank,
And observed great joys and deep sorrows in their lives, 
As brides and caskets moved slowly over those planks.

Indentions are visible between the hewn pews,
Where people knelt to seek God’s undeserved favor,
And received His grace in this station of Good News,
Where believers know faith means helping their neighbors.

And when the occasional stranger wanders in,
Their truest identity is lovingly shown,
And they model what following Jesus Christ means,
For each one is as welcomed as their very own.

They carry each other’s burdens and sorrows,
No one judges and no gossip is ever heard,
They seek God’s kindness for today and tomorrow,
Abstaining from greed in devotion to God’s word.

In that little country church, they know that their might,
Is found in helping each other in dire weakness,
Bringing their love to another in sin’s great blight,
Letting Jesus transform them into His likeness.

The wise ones are most patient with those just learning,
The ones new feel no threat to their jubilation,
Their fellowship draws each to profound discerning,
The promised Advent of God’s revealed salvation.

There’s a country church nestled in the wilderness,
A rugged wood cross hangs over the baptistry,
The sanctuary touts spiritual freshness,
An earthly pathway to heaven’s eternity.
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