Sunday, November 15, 2009

The Month of Thanksgiving - Fifteen


Upon the hill so bright and clear
Stands the church we love so dear
The church was founded by our fathers fifty years ago
There it stands upon the hill beat by rain and snow

Every Sunday rain or shine, we went through the door
To attend Sunday School alike for rich and poor
And in our early childhood, each and every lad and lass
Did not want to grow so old we had to leave Miss Eva’s class
But when we became reconciled to our older fate
We had Aunt Bertha for our teacher and thought that she was great
As we grew to man and womanhood all our interests still
Centered around the little church that stands upon the hill

Some had left us, how we missed them, when we met to pray
For now they rest in God’s acre just across the way
In World War One, our young men were called to go
To fight for their country against the foreign foe
When the war was over most of them came home
Got married, settled down never more to roam
Now their children run over farm and shout at will
But on Sunday come to worship in the church upon the hill

Lots left the hill and country and scattered all around
On farms, in villages, cities and in many little towns
From Baltimore to San Francisco from Maine to Florida
You can find Mt. Olivet’s children all along the way
I believe that looking back upon their childhood still
Their thoughts will return with longing for the church upon the hill

Years rolled swiftly by, our children all are grown
And like the birds of the air some from the home have flown
Our sons were called to fight in World War Two
And many were the heartaches felt by me and you
They were in all of Europe, some in Africa
Many they left behind them when they came away
Others were in the Pacific zone and helped to take Japan
I think that we can always say, “They do the best they can.”
But God was with Mt. Olivet’s boys, each and every one
He brought them safely home again, when the war was won.
Now again they are answering to our country’s call
And we pray that God in heaven will not let them fall
But bring them all home safely, if it is his will,
To worship once again in the church upon the hill.

When our work here on earth is o’er
And we make our last trip through the door
Across the road to the cemetery fair
For our last sleep with kinfolks there
May our children and their children too
Take up the work with love to do
The Master’s will and carry through
For fifty years or more
Written in 1950 by our grandmother, Lena Gertrude Dixon Wiles, to celebrate the 50th birthday of Mt. Olivet, our family church.

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