-songs Of Old- Poem by Carolyn Ford Witt

-SONGS OF OLD-

Down the street from where I live
Is a Church of long ago
And every Sunday morning
Ringing bells would sound so slow.

They'd ring those Hymns out loudly
Each chorus rising High
With praises waifing O're the town
And rising to the sky.

I loved those bells so dearly
Their sound I longed to hear
And every Sunday morning
I'd treasure them so dear.

But now those bells are silent
Those hymns no longer there,
And I sincerely miss them
No more praise's do they share.

But one day I will hear them
As I stand on streets of gold,
And I'll hear the Angels singing
Hymns of Praise and Songs of Old.


Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
Ms. Caroline
© 7-2-06