The little mountain church, though simple and plain,
Was so precious to me I want to go again
And worship as in days of yore
When wide open was the door.



Strains of the old time hymns
Lifted the rafters of the mountain church
When family and friends sang praises to God 
And worshiped Him.



Simple folk gathered each Sunday morn
To worship the Savior
Giving everlasting life to each child, reborn
Who accepted the free gift
Of eternal life and songs of praise did lift.



There is no more precious place
Than the little mountain church to me
For the love of God 
Emanated from the radiant saints' face
As they gathered to testify of their hope for eternity.



©Jane Ward Smith
April 3, 2005
Used With Permission
All Rights Reserved By Author
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