The Country Chapel
Passing a little country chapel,
where it is sitting upon the hill.
In the beautiful forest green, I
hear the call of a whippoorwill.
In the midst of the wood land,
in the distant, there’s a windy pine.
Every Sunday morning, hear the
keys of the organ, as they untwine.
There’s a white cross upon the
steeple, as it rises up to the sky.
Is Jesus calling to everyone, will
they stop, or will they pass by.
As the angels whispers to me, they
tell me to listen to my very own soul.
It’s a reminder of Calvary, on the
cross Jesus died so many years ago.
Penned By:
Johanna Fields (c)2003
Hayti, Mo
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