Louise Driscoll

THERE is a little church I know

With six white pillars in a row,

And for a hundred years or more

God’s people have gone through the door.

A goodly company are they

Who come no more on Sabbath Day.

Sometimes I think the Sabbath air

Is filled with little ghosts of prayer,

And in the rafters linger yet

Words that the church cannot forget.

Full of old songs the belfry is,

And every pew has memories.