How they use’d to rally,

At the quaint Old church

Down in the Valley.

‘Twas here the good Folk came from miles around,

To reverence the Gospel,

The elders did propound.

With song and prayer,

I’ve oftimes worshipped with ‘em there.

In Winters’ evenings good sleighing,

We gathered there, a singing and a praying,

The Lord’s will obeying.

On every Sabbath Morn at Nine A.M.

The sound of the tolling church Bell,

Across the Hills and Valley fell,

The day was for rest, and worship it did tell.

‘Twas here one learn’d of Jonah and the Whale,

Daniel in the Lion’s den,

and many another Bible Tale.

How they use’d to rally,

At the quaint old Church,

Down in the Valley.

There’s was an humble Creed,

Their faith in God, sufficed their every need.

They earn’d Heavens Heritage,

By kindly acts and many a friendly deed.

The old Church Bell is hushed and still,

The most of those who worshipped there,

Are resting in God’s Acre on yonder Hill.

‘Tis a goodly throng from the unseen Shore,

That oftimes passes in review,

Before the God given memory of mine,

How they used to rally,

At the quaint old Church

Down in the Valley.

‘Twas here in the Sabbaths of yore,

They garnered of God’s blessing a goodly store.

The Mind with such minute detail

Can summons back the past,

One forgets time grown pale,

And living cannot last.

Written by William N. Jewett, the “Farmer Poet of Hampton”, who lived in Howard Valley from 1887 to 1891.