In the  1850’s, the village of Marysburg sprang forth as a stage stop along the Dubuque trail. The Catholic settlers were passionate about their faith and quickly set to building a church for their new community. By 1857, the first log church was constructed and consecrated as the Church of   the Immaculate Conception. Marysburg’s little log church was soon outgrown however, and by  1869 construction began on the larger church of today.


150 years have passed and although the village eventually disappeared, the Marysburg Church stood strong. From the Sioux uprising of 1862, through the depression and World Wars, up to the war in Iraq today, the church continues to provide an uplifting embrace with the blessings and grace it holds inside. 
Since 1857, thirty-four priests have been assigned to Marysburg; two men Frs. Kenneth Clinton and Kevin Clinton, have entered the priesthood, and thirteen young women have devoted their lives to serving Christ as nuns. We bless them with gratitude for their faith and devotion.
Some seven generations have knelt in prayer here, and people continue to bring their hungry and the weak to this serene place. Babies are blessed--as are the departed. Hopes, fears, troubles, and dreams are laid upon the altar. And with each prayer, gratitude is given. Gratitude for the abundant graces of God, for the generous intercession of Mary, for loved ones, for the fruit of the fields, for our livelihoods, and for the multitude of blessings our Father gives this world everyday. 

Most importantly, we pray that God will guide us to carry the goodness of this heritage back out into the world.  And that as we do so, we honor the strong heartbeat of this little church, the Church of the Immaculate Conception of Marysburg.

by Mary M. Maher

Oh, the old log church of days gone by
Built by early settlers here.
Tho small and crude, no cathedral grand
Was ever held as dear.

Each log was hewed for the glory of God
A labor of love we know
And they patiently worked til it stood complete
Those builders of long ago.

To that little church in the wilderness
The faithful came to pray
Where the Indian often roamed the wilds
And the Gray Wolf sought to prey.

It stood for faith and hope to them
And they treasured it more and more.
The stars smiled down on its rugged cross
and the wild flowers by its door.

Oh, how happy they were when a priest would come,

In the days of long ago
When the Sacred Heart was raised aloft
In the candles golden glow.

And long they treasured the words of cheer
The kindly Priest would say
For he knew that life in the wilds was hard
More strenuous day by day.

In the Indian uprising of sixty-two
Fearful of danger there
For protection they flocked to the old log church
To spend long nights in prayer.

Oh, those old settlers are sleeping now,
Neath the shadow of the cross
But sweet memories cling to lives well spent
And their gain is now our loss