Little Cabin On the Hill by Burletta Sue Underwood

Last night as I was sleeping/ I dreamed of long ago./ Of the little cabin on the hill/ And the life I used to know.// The wildfowers were still blooming/ And the sky was a radiant blue./ The birds were singing sweetly/ As the morning sun sparkled on the dew.// The maple trees were still there/ And I heard the whippoorwills/ Calling high above the trees/Near the cabin on the hill.// The board and batten siding/ Was weather beaten by the wind/ And the window pane was broken/ Where the sun was streaming in.// Smoke was coming from the chimney/ Where a fire was burning bright./ And mama was reading her bible/ By the crackling fire light.// Music was playing from Dad's guitar/ And children gathered there./ They were singing the gospel hymn/ Without a load of care.// Then I heard a sound/ Like a mighty rushing wind,/ And I heard the angels singing/ As they joined in.// When the singing was over/ I awoke to find/ The little cabin on the hill/ Was still a treasure in my mind.