Round the Old Wooden Church on the Green.
Yet I’d rather to-day they should crumble away,
Earth’s proudest and loftiest pile,
Built up as a mock for neglect and decay,
To stand while the broad heavens smile—
Than tear off one shred from its moss-eaten roof,
Or call it the shabby and mean,
For we’re all, when grown old and neglected enough
Like the Old Wooden Church on the Green.
And I hear the sweet voices that chanted within,