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The trees, the birds, the sloping hill
Seemed just the same as of yore,
In youth our hearts would with gladness fill
As we neared that old church door.
The dear old ministers of that day
Would preach the gospel as they knew,
The Reverends Hardy, Frazier and McKay
Preachers like they are rare and few.
This church today is made of stone
The other two of long years ago,
Were made of brick of the reddest stone
By loving hands were placed just so.
Stately old trees stand all around
And the spring at the foot of the hill,
Where cold water gushed out of the ground
With our cups made of leaves to fill.
Time, fleeting time, turn back in your flight
That I may live over once more,
Those days of childhood's delight
Ere I cross to that other shore.
--Mrs. P. G. K.
Published in THE LEAD BELT NEWS,
Flat River, St. Francois Co. MO, Fri. Oct. 31, 1952
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