Church in the Wildwood

There's a church in the valley by the wildwood

No lovelier place in the dale

No place is so dear to my childhood

As the little brown church in the dale.

How sweet, on a clear Sabbath morning

To listen to the clear ringing bells

Its tones, so sweetly, are calling

Oh, come to the church in the vale.

Oh, come, come, come, come

Come to the church in the wildwood

Oh, come to the church in the dale

No spot is so dear to my childhood

As the little brown church in the vale.

I really, really miss my church. Old hymns, potlucks, people who have known me since I was four years old, babies and expectant mothers, my pastor, the sound of the creek as we sing the opening hymns, the kids that I miss watching as they grow up, the old-fashioned love for Jesus without any "new-and-improved" methods.