By: Myrtle Laney
I would like to go back to my childhood home,
In the Smoky Mountains where I did roam.
We lived on the banks of Hazel Creek,
Where the ripple of the water would lull me to sleep.
We would go swimming in the baptizing hole,
Where Hazel Creek and Bone Valley meet. The water sure iscold.
Then we would go fishing up Roaring Fork,
And we all went to school on Sugar Fork.
When summer was past and our chores all done,
We would then plan a trip for the old and young.
Uncles Wess would walk with us to Silars Bald,
To pick up chestnuts in the Fall.
On Christmas morning, along about ten,
We children would stand by the railroad track.
The train would come puffing around the bend,
With our Christmas goodys in a little orange sack.
The train men freely gave their time for awhile,
And they always greeted us with a smile.
Surely God gave them a blessing from Heaven,
As they made that run fourteen miles from Proctor to Camp Seven.
Now, the little white church up on the hill,
The place where it stood is so lonely and still.
On Sunday morning we could hear the bell ring,
Now I loved to go and hear them sing.
We would have a revival in the Fall each year,
People would come from far and near.
And each night and seven and eleven next day,
We would all join together to sing and pray.
We did not have no pomp or style,
We went to meeting to worship God for awhile.
Our friends and loved ones we would greet,
And we took the preacher home with us to eat.
We left our loved ones up the hill,
In my memory I can see them still.
But Jesus will come his children to take,
And they won’t have to cross the Fontana Lake.