Thursday, May 17, 2007


When e'er I hear the church bells ring
On a quiet Sabbath morn,
My thoughts go drifting back again
To the land where I was born.

Again I see that white frame church
With tombstones standing near,
And every Sabbath day the bell,
Would call the folks to prayer.

Some worshipers they lived close by,
And others far away;
The men folk they would meet and chat,
And then go in to pray.

'Twas there the children small were blest,
And marriage vows were said;
And in that plot with grass so green
We laid away our dead.

Each household had their family pew,
And every day of rest;
All would be seated in their place
Clad in their Sunday's best.

There was no choir in that old church,
But all knew how to sing,
And when they sang these good old hymns
They made the rafters ring.

I loved to go to that old church
To join in prayer and praise;
These memories will forever stay
With me through all my days.

And when the chimes of Sabbath bells
Comes floating through the air,
My thoughts go back to that old church
With tombstones standing near.

Photo: Anglican Church on Gin Cove head