These stanza were written in pencil on a sheet of lined paper by Everett Nelson Rue shortly before his death. A note at the bottom, in his wife's handwriting, says, "written by Everett Rue, 1936, found in his shirt pocket." She preserved it in her Bible.On the corner stands the Church we love.
Tis on this most sacred sod
Through righteous lives and prayers above
Our loved ones learned to know their God.But as years go by & hair turns gray,
And strange things come upon our view
We know not what to think or what to say
Or what is best for us to do.On Sunday morn we greet the throng.
Holy worship bound are we.
But soon 'tis o'er & right or wrong,
For some a game of bridge must be.Again our thoughts revert to Christ.
The Church, the sacred emblems there.
But before our tired brain may think scarce twice
The dance in mirth has gained its share.Our aim is not to mope or whine,
Or yet gloomy seem to be.
But tell me brother, Brother mine,
What does Christ expect of you & me!Are not we born to live & love
Was not Christ's love for diapers?
Did not he teach us from above
We are our brothers keeper?So friends, in this made rush for thriss
As life is all a fad for me
Let's make the grad[e], let's clime the hill.
Let's be what Christ would have us be.