• front door
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  • front door
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Church of the Immaculate Conception of Marysburg


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 till 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 o f 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.
—Mary M. Maher