Wayside Homes.

AS I rode on my errand along,
  I came where a prim little spire
Chimed out to the landscape a song,
  And glowed in the sunset like fire.

II.

Its cross beamed a beckoning ray,
  And the home of my Mother I knew;
So I pressed to its portal to pray,
  And my book from my bosom I drew.

III.

How sweet was the service within,
  And the plain rustic chaunt how sincere!
How welcome the pardon of sin,
  And the kind parting blessing how dear!

IV.

And the parson--I knew not his name,
  And the brethren--each face was unknown;
But the Church and the prayers were the same,
  And my heart claimed them all for its own.

V.

For I knew--in my own little nook,
  That eve, the same Psalter was said,
And lessons, the same from the Book,
  By my far-away darlings were read.

VI.

So I prayed, and went on in my way,
  Blessed GOD for the Church He hath given;
My steed on his journey was gay;
  So was I--on my journey to Heaven.

Project Canterbury