I can hear the church bells ringing,
Sunday morning at stroke of nine.
A joyous cheery chiming
Saying 'sinner come and dine.'
In the town square in the valley,
Where the cross would point the way,
Was a home where more than family
Could find acceptance any day.
The bells also sent the message
It is more than Christmas here.
And if it just be at Easter,
Why not worship through the year.
An after service picnic
With young families at play.
It's a picture of what Heaven
Will be like most every day.
The building is well cared for
But it's really not the church.
If looking for souls most caring
It is where you'll end your search.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem