The little white church on the hill

1 There’s a spot that is dearest of all on earth,
Its memory dwells with me still;
‘Tis the place where my parents for long years met,
In the little white church on the hill.
In the little white church on the hill,
In the little white church on the hill,
‘Tis the place where my parents for long years met,
In the little white church on the hill

2 ‘Tis a hundred full years since thy stones were laid,
And the hands that then laid them are still;
And the voices are silent that hymned God’s praise
In the little white church on the hill.
In the little white church on the hill,
In the little white church on the hill,
And the voices are silent that hymned God’s praise
In the little white church on the hill

3 Her precincts are sacred; their graves are green,
Where the fathers and mothers rest sill;
Sweet their sleep, they are waiting the trumpet’s call,
By the little white church on the hill.
By the little white church on the hill,
By the little white church on the hill,
Sweet their sleep, they are waiting the trumpet’s call,
By the little white church on the hill.

4 Then grant me this pray’r, that when life is spent,
And the tumult and battle is still,
That I, too, may sleep with the saints of God,
By the little white church on the hill.
By the little white church on the hill,
By the little white church on the hill,
That I, too, may sleep with the saints of God,
By the little white church on the hill.

Source: New Songs of Pentecost #65

• MIDI file from New Songs of Pentecost #65