The Little White Church


There’s a little, white church that stands on a hill,

In memories of yesterdays, I see it still.

I hear all the old hymns we used to sing

And echoing through time, the bell still rings.



I see family and friends all gathered there

With heads humbly bowed in fervent prayer.

I see the preacher, as before the altar he stands

Holding God’s book, reverently, in his hands.



"Just As I Am", came the altar call

On the day I bent down and gave Jesus my all.

Now sixty years have come and past

Since I entered through those doors last.



Gone are the voices that used to sing

And gone is the bell that used to ring,

But the little, white church still stands on the hill

And etched within my memory, it always will.

Lora Cox
©2002
Website

You may use this poem if you want,
but the copyright must be left as it is,
and all links as they are...
For use only on family friendly websites.