Little Shrine Poem by Albert Price

Sitting quietly in the midst of a copse of pine,
A little white church dwells there in the wood--
A sacred beacon as well as a rural shrine,
For the residents of this idyllic neighborhood.

The aroma of dried pine needles give a fragrance
And a friendly welcome to all souls who come.
The gentle breeze and diffused brilliance
Reminds the pilgrim of the serenity of home.

Now and then mournful occasions necessitate
This small venue be filled with a crowd.
The cheering on of passage to the higher state
Is attended to with eulogy and singing aloud.

But its highest duty is evidence of God's presence,
Here in this lush and green backdrop of countryside.
A testimony of the local people's faith in Providence
And a ready representative of our Savior's bride.