a bleak stump-dotted hillside, in the days of long ago:
I recall a little schoolhouse, standing there amid the snow.
And to night I am remembering many dear friends of youth:
And the stalwart "Blacksmith-Preacher" who proclaimed God's mighty
How he told of death, and judgment,
hearts within us burned;
And conviction came upon us, and we to Jesus turned.
Then he preached of Grace, and Mercy, and Christ's all-redeeming love;
Till our burdens there, were lifted by the "Holy One" above.
Oh, the hallowed "old white school
house," could we gather there tonight;
We would have a "Blessed Meeting," though our hair is turning white.
Then we'd greet our "Davie" Minerd, as we did in days of yore,
With a hand-claps, warm and hearty, as we left him at the door.
Of the earnest souls who met there, every night
'mid snow and rain,
Some have gone to that "Fair City," and but few of us remain.
To press forward in God's service, and strive with might and main,
To reach Heaven, and meet Jesus, where we'll sing the glad refrain.
"All Hail, the power of Jesus' name, Let
angels prostrate fall;
Bring forth the royal diadem, And crown Him, Lord of all."