When I was growing up, my parents and my sisters, and myself attended a little church out in the country. Religion was important to my parents all of their life, and they instilled that into our lives as well. This little church of country people did a lot to encourage the children. I remember fondly my very first Bible class teacher, Mrs. Moser. She was wonderful. I loved her. We were in a little tiny classroom down in the basement. It had a white door with glass windows. She decorated that room lovingly. One assignment was for us to color a church building in brown. She talked about the importance of church, and what the church was ... not a building but the people who go there and worship God. So, in my mind (I was not even in first grade yet)... I was thinking .. It cannot be brown. Because I was thinking that churches should be red because my parents barn was red, and red was just a better color after all. Later after class, she told my parents I didn't follow instructions. I remember how sad I was that my teacher was not happy with me, because I was just sure it was okay to do that. My parents took me to Mrs. Moser's home, and I told her I was not being disobedient, but that I really thought it should be red. She just laughed, and clapped her hands together, and said, I understand, that is fine. I was just concerned that you did not understand my instructions. Thank you for explaining this to me, and coming to see me. Years later, I ran across a birthday card from Mrs. Moser when I was 7 years old. She has long been gone, but she ever lives in my heart because of the little brown church in the wildwood.
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There's a church in the valley by the wildwood
No lovelier spot in the dale
No place is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale
(Oh, come, come, come, come)
Come to the church by the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the vale
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale
How sweet on a clear Sabbath morning
To listen to the clear ringing bells
Its tones so sweetly are calling
Oh come to the church in the vale
(Oh, come, come, come, come)
Come to the church by the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the vale
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale
There, close by the church in the valley
Lies one that I loved so well
She sleeps, sweetly sleeps, 'neath the willow
Disturb not her rest in the vale
(Oh, come, come, come, come)
Come to the church by the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the vale
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale
There, close by the side of that loved one
'Neath the tree where the wild flowers bloom
When farewell hymns shall be chanted
I shall rest by her side in the tomb
(Oh, come, come, come, come)
Come to the church by the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the vale
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale
Words & Music: Dr. William S. Pitts, 1857
Dr. William S. Pitts (1830-1918) was born in Orleans County, New York. As a young man, he taught school in rural Rock County, Wisconsin. He later became a doctor, and practiced in Fredericksburg, Iowa, for over 40 years. He is buried in the Rose hill Cemetery in Fredericksburg.
Dr. Pitts wrote:
One bright afternoon of a day in June 1857, I first set foot in old Bradford, Iowa, coming by stage from McGregor. My home was in Wisconsin. The spot where the “Little Brown Church” now stands was a setting of rare beauty. There was no church there but the spot was there waiting for it. When back in my home I wrote the song ’The Little Brown Church in the Vale.’ I put the manuscript away.
In the spring of 1862 I returned to Iowa and settled at Fredericksburg… In the years of 1859 and 1860 the good people of Bradford were determined to build a church…By the early winter of 1864 the building was ready for dedication. While I was holding the singing school, near its close in the spring, the class went one evening to the church. It was not then seated, but rude seats were improvised.
My manuscript of the song I had brought with me from Wisconsin. It had never been sung before by anyone but myself. I sang it there.
Soon afterwards I took the manuscript to Chicago, where it was published by H. M. Higgins. It won a speedy recognition locally and with the years won its way into the hearts of the people of the world.
Soon after its publication the church at Bradford, which had been painted brown (for want of money to buy better paint, some say), became known as “The Little Brown Church in the Vale.” My hope is that it will stand for a thousand years and call the old man and his descendants to worship.
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