Roofed with blue sky and with green turf made sweet.
Surely the Master of this house would smile
Seeing the children on His grass at play,
Seeing the mothers rest a little while
Out of the turmoil of the busy day.
Soon will he ask, “Where are the children gone:
They who should share this pleasant, sacred place?
No little feet are treading this soft lawn,
Here shines no glory from a little face.”
Ye in whose trust this Christian church is left,