An Ode
To the old Presbyterian Church in Red Oak Grove
by Mrs. Ella Rowser Rhodes of Saxton, Pennsylvania

We have a mental picture of a church,
In Red Oak Grove's fair wood,
Built by pioneers of early days;
Yet all these years it stood.

Nestled in a forest then,
Sheltered by grand old trees,
Which nodded and seemed to speak,
With every whispering breeze.

Four roads led to this building,
Winding through woodland fair,
Bringing the people together,
For worship with hymn and prayer.

Pews were filled those days,
With the earnest, tried and true,
The very best of the country,
Bringing their children too.

The Civil War claimed a number,
Who answered their country's call,
Some came back unharmed,
While others were destined to fall.

And out by the church in the graveyard,
They lie in that last sleep,
While the old church stands stately,
As if a vigil to keep.

Me thinks I can see the faces,
Of those who worshiped here,
And hear all the voices,
That sang with earnest cheer.

But of all that number,
There are left but few,
The silent markers yonder,
Brings clearly this to view.

A creek near by lent beauty,
With its waters, clear and good,
A goodly number crossing it,
On an old time bridge of wood.

We love to think of the old church,
When we meet together there,
For Christmas entertainments, etc.,
And singing schools, now rare.