ding branches
Where the grass and violets grow.

Hats hang around on the trunks,
Coats lay across the limbs,
No roof above but heaven,
They sing the good old hymns.

So they pray and preach together
And sing in one accord,
My heart within rejoices
To hear them praise the Lord.

Though seats are rough, uneven,
And they lay upon the sod,
There can be no fault in the building,
For the Architect is God.

Through years--it's been a custom
That prayer should first be made,
And then the others follow,
Their praises ring in wood and glade.

There in the temple of temples,
They tell of the glory land,
While they beg the many sinners
To take a better stand.

They beg the sinners to listen
As they explain God's love,
Telling of home that's waiting
In the mansions up above.

Still praising God, the Father,
Who gave His only Son,
The meeting service closes
Just as it had begun.

--Jessie Stewart

MOUNTAIN DOCTOR

This ballad was composed and set to tune by Jilson Setters, the Singin'
Fiddler of Lost Hope Hollow, who can neither read nor write, yet who has
composed and set to tune more than one hundred ballads, some of which
the late Dr. Kittredge of Harvard declared "will live as classics."

A very kindly doctor, a friend, I quite well know,
He owned a mighty scope of land, some eighty year ago.
The doctor had an old-time house, built from logs and clay,
A double crib of roughhewn logs, it was built to stay.

The doctor he would fish and hunt,
He would bring in bear and deer;
He was content and happy in his home
with his loved ones always near.

The doctor owned a faithful horse,
He rode him night and day;
He had nothing but a bridle path
To guide him on his way.

The panther was his dreadful foe,
It often lingered near;
The doctor always went well armed,
He seemed to have no fear.

He made himself a nice wa