The Rustic Brown Church Poem by Diane Wright

A small brown church sits by the road
Unobtrusive, silent, with memories in store.
The old structure drab in color, yet bold
Was painted brown during the great Civil War.

A man, William Pitts, by stagecoach did come
To view the beauty of this glen where it stands.
It was there the church came to him in a dream.
He began writing a poem from God; not man.
.
Lo and behold, as years go swiftly by
The vision unfolds in the glen where he stood.
The poem he wrote so many years before
Is the infamous hymn, “Church in the Wildwood.”

A still small voice resides in the glen
Among the quiet gentle rustling of the grass
It is where God spoke to a man’s heart so pure
And prayers from a town answered at last.

Come to the church in the wildwood.
Come see for yourself the vision so fair.
A beautiful setting of flowers and trees.
You will rest leaving behind all your cares.

How rustic and majestic the brown church stands
If it could talk and tell you of times long ago
You would be amazed at all it has seen and heard;
Stories of white man, Indian, friend, and foe.

No place is so dear to my childhood
As the Little Brown Church in the Vale
Where memories of old are emblazoned in wood
As it whispers secrets and stories to tell.

I know this church of nostalgia and fame.
I hear its voice as I stand at its doors.
It tires of keeping stories back of long ago
I yearn to stay by its side and listen for more.

Children love the bells as they play to pretend
Dressing in old gowns and veils just for fun
Envisioning that special day they will wed
Joining hearts and lives with that special someone.

Oh 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.