The old country church, so quaint and so still
That stands at the top of the long winding hill,
The tall spreading trees have shielded it there
From storms thru the years--each shock to e'er bear,
The peaceful churchyard with slabs weather worn, Recalling to some the cross they have borne.
The meadows so sweet and the fields stretch afar,
- 'Bove blue of the hills shines evening's first star.
The woodland nearpy and the clear running stream,
Reflecting the gold or the dying swibeam,
The old country church, so staunch and so true, We know God's blessings have rested on you