The Old Church of My Childhood.
Copyright, 1880, by W. H. Rieger.
The old church of my childhood,
Built on the country green,
Was near a charming wildwood,
The fairest ever seen;
, Far from the pastor's dwelling
It stood in peace alone;
Its rustic beauty telling
Of days forever flown.
Each Sabbath morn the ringing
Of bells was loud and clear,
And then the old choir singing
Brought ev'ry heart good cheer.
The old church near the wildwood,
Its walls with moss overgrown.
Where in the days of childhood
Bright hours of peace I've known;
With tall and tow'ring steeple,
Where peeled the Sabbath bell,
And where the church-going people
Their faith and hope would tell.-Chorus.
The rock, the stream, the wildwood,
Arc just the same to-day;
The old church of my childhood
Is now in slow decay.
We hear no more the ringing
Of bells so pure and clear;
No good old choir is singing
Those hymns we loved to hear.-Chorus.