There's a little old church that I love so well,
It is there I kneel to pray,
To Jesus my Lord all my troubles tell
And receive comfort on my way.

There we sing the songs of Zion's hill,
And we cry, “Have mercy Lord!”
In each pray'r we hear we can feel a thrill
And abide in His holy word.

When communion time comes we're glad to meet,
For there's joy beyond compare;
When the dear old saints wash each other's feet
There is shouting in Heaven fair.

O that little old church, where the message is free,
And we shake each other's hand;
In that spot no mortal eye can see
The rich blessings from glory land.