How often have I paused on every charm, The sheltered cot,
the cultivated farm, The never-failing
brook, the busy mill, The decent church
that topped the neighboring hill.
The small country church, the place where friends gathered to pray. We all knew and helped each other. There was the sharing of joy when a new baby was born and at death we did mourn. My Father was the pastor, the janitor, the counselor, the one who visited the sick and needy. While the hours where long and the pay almost non existent he never complained just carried on Gods work in a small country church.
Dedicated to My Father who I know is in heaven...Albert Delzer...See you soon.
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