The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

_ I REMEMBER by Jim: Bell A TEMPLE IN THE WOOD There is a temple in the wood Not. made by human hand, Yet, through the ages has It stood ‘The finest in the land, Tis floor is carpeted with green Patterned with violets blue And. #¢véry spring, by hands unseen, "Tis carpeted anew. ‘The organ sweet in that retroat fs played by fairy hand And fluted notes from feathered throat ts Go echoeing o'er the land, ‘The wiseen preacher murmurs low Sweet comfort to the soul And broken lives, from there I know, Go forth again made whole. T guess that 1 should have been a preacher for, in spite of my- sélf, ¥ often find that I am on the _ verge of preaching and one should not Infringe too much on the other fellow's calling. However, I have always felt the significance of inanimate things, Songs in r stones and trees. But T had hetter try to change the subject. On Sunday afternoon, 1 ‘od He ge Pee F Rtraot <6 the eo of the sidewalk. . J must have! astood there fifteen or twenty min- utes, maybe, mate, Just looking | two brick houses on the west side | lips where John Cotter now lives }and the other was the | barred the way to the road that). unning brooks and sérmons in|’ was like years ago. The old dusty | gravel road, considered pretty | good those days, barely wide ; enough for two wagons to pass | where It crossed the gully. The of the street, John Wesley Phil- big house | belonging to Fred Philp. That was jal there were, Across the road an old gate stil goes up through the woods.) In fancy, I go across the gully and on up the hill, On the west) side was a big vacant field slop-| ing down sharply to the west, Many times have I wandered over it looking for ground bird’s nests, Just across the road was & weath- er-heaten brick house that is naw the fine residence of Gordon Smith, around and remembering what it