In some great day 



The country church 



Will find its voice 

 And it will say: 



" I stand in the fields 

 Where the wide earth yields 



Her bounties of fruit and of grain; 

 Where the furrows turn 

 Till the plowshares burn 



As they circle again, again; 

 Where the workers pray 

 With their tools all day, 



In sunshine and shadow and rain. 



" And I bid them tell 

 Of the crops they sell, 



And speak of the work they have done ; 

 I speed every man 

 In his hope and plan, 



And follow his day with the sun; 

 And grasses and trees, 

 The birds and the bees 

 I know and I feel every one. 



" And out of it all 

 As the seasons fall 



I build my great temple alway; 

 I point to the skies 

 But my footstone lies 



In commonplace work of the day; 

 For I preach the worth 

 Of the native earth 



To love and to work is to pray." 



L. H. Bailey. 



