Excerpt from The Church of the Open Country: A Study of the Church for the Working Farmer

The Country Church

I Stand in the fields,

Where the wide earth yields

Her bounties of fruit and grain;

Where the furrows turn

Till the plowshares burn

As they come 'round and 'round 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 ev'ry 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.

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