There's a church by the maples
Standing on the knoll,
That watches o'er the Center
Like an old friendly soul.
Square and true it stands,
Its beams and rafters straight,
A tribute to its builders
Of a hundred years to date.
Inside the wainscoat rises,
Ash and cherry to the peak,
Raising our sights to lofty heights
From which the Virtues speak.
Somber yet peaceful
Whate'er the time or season,
Our thoughts slow down and concentrate
As we reflect and reason.
The church nurtured many spirits
Of those who nailed and planed;
Their friends, kin and neighbors,
And settlers who later came.
It married their children,
Christened the babes God did send,
Oversaw their Christmases,
And buried them in the end.
Then more left than came,
As farms returned to wood,
And shops and stores folded;
Yet the church stayed best it could.
It's cold and damp in winter,
The wainscoat would swell and mold,
Few were the folks to keep a fire
To keep the church from growing old.
But a few hardy souls
Whose vigil oh so wary
Helped to maintain and preserve
Their lifetime sanctuary.
One worked especially hard,
The church to rebuild;
Saw the young folk returning
And her hopes almost fulfilled.
The old church is still older,
Its structure needs repair.
The paint is peeled and cracking,
But there's no need to despair:
There's people here a-plenty now
Whose spirits need a home,
And like Ruth Clark who loved it so,
This church can become your own.
