The following poem was written by William E. Ogren, a friend of Gilead, in December of 1995

"The church that sits atop a hill for all the world to see,

A grand Victorian structure with a quiet majesty.

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So many generations have worshipped in this place.

It beckons from the hilltop with a quiet kind of grace.

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A remember of a bygone time when splendor was the norm, 

It was built by caring craftsman and would weather any storm.

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The highway down below it was a quiet dusty road.

Bricks were hauled by horses, straining 'neath their load.

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Before too long a church was raised, a fitting gift of thanks.

It has lasted through the ages, like the people in its ranks.

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A fitting place of worship on this hill atop the land,

A cathedral in the county - proud, alive and grand.

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The day this church was opened was a joyous, happy time,

As wagons full of families came to make the gentle climb.

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But a country church like this or a cathedral tall and grand,

Are only stacks of brick and stone that sit upon the sand.

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The church is in the people who choose this place to pray.

They've been here for generations and still are here today.

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Inside they sing the praises to the Lord that they all know,

And the sound of joyful music fills the valley down below.

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The scene of many joyous times and many sad as well,

Who knows how many stories these hallowed walls could tell.

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The road is now a highway and the traffic hurries by,

But that church atop the hill still stands tall against the sky.

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It still serves its congregation as it did so long ago,

And still stands as a beacon to that highway down below.

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As you walk up to the country church on a quiet summer day,

You can sense The Balm of Gilead as you go in to pray.

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May the Lord continue to bless your church."

 - William E. Ogren

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