Little White Church in the Valley

The Little White Church in the Valley

A poem by

Nelle Buchanan Elliott, circa 1950's

The little white church in the valley

Grows dearer each day to my heart

It stands there so peaceful and quiet

A comfort to me it imparts.

In our youth it was crowded with people

Young and old came from miles around.

And lifted their voices in praises

The hills with the echoes resound.

The churchyard was filled with vehicles

And each hitchrack hole was in use

And if a front seat pleased your fancy

You went early to get the choice pews

Just see in the old “Amen Corner”

Cousin Charles with his face all aglow

As from some deep hidden emotion

He enjoyed – as he located “do”

The faithful but deaf “Deacon” Winkley

His place was up on the front seat

Where he could enjoy all the gestures

And lead out in prayer – none could beat.

And then there was old “Uncle Jimmy”

Long ‘n land with his chinwhiskers white

Who testified loudly and longly

And pounded the bench with his might

His wife – meek and mild – wee “Aunt” Sarah

So small in her grey satin gown

Sat quietly waiting to whisper

Well chosen words – when he sat down.

“Aunt Ida” enjoyed the revivals

They suited her temperament so

Count on her to furnish excitement

Whenever the interest ran low.

Dear Grandmother – there in her bonnet

With her chin ribbons tied in a bow

Sings softly each word of the music

Her glasses – no aid – we all know.

Oh dear little church in the valley

We’re past middle age – you and I.

And many a change we have witnessed

To many a friend said goodbye.

These dear ones have gone on to glory

And soon in the front ranks I’ll be

Awaiting the call “Come up higher”

The way is well trodden for me.

You’ll remain – little church – in the valley

Helping all those who would understand

The love and the will of the Father

And the way to the glad Promise Land.

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     The little country church in this poem was Guilford Methodist Church where my my great-grandparents attended, and my grandparents and Auntie & Uncle Jim were married.  My Aunt Carol and Dad were probably baptized there.  Built in 1899, it was the center of the little village known as Guilford, IN.  My family was very involved in all the activities at the church, as they lived only a few steps from it.  Today it still stands, although home to another denomination.

    The characters mentioned in the poem are actually names of family and members of the church (I looked them up!).  My great-grandmother Nelle, born in 1891, attended from the time she was a little girl until her death in 1958.  I wonder if she wrote this poem near the end of her life, reflecting on the impact the church had on her.

Original poem: