"This little white church at the end of the road 
                   Has stood for many a year-
                   Within, you can feel the solemn hush
                   Of those who have worshipped here.

                   Thru the window you can see the brow of the hill
                   The spot so peaceful and blest,
                   Where the meadowlark sings and the ivy clings
                   Here, our pioneer forefathers rest.

                  On you who are young and strong and fair,
                  Their mantle they have cast;
                   May yours be the task to carry on
                   The traditions of the past."