We Gather, Not For Gold

The village shines with a golden hue, Brighter, livelier—fresh and new. Hammers echo through the night, Building dreams in dawn’s soft light. A slumber deep, a weary sigh, Yet joy and hope refuse to die. For after years—so long, so vast, The first Synod Samla comes at last. But let us gather, not in pride, Nor in riches stacked beside. This is a time to lift His name, To spread His word, to fan the flame. No wealth is needed, no grand display, Only hearts that kneel and pray. For even two small coins, once given, Were treasured high in halls of Heaven. So come, O faithful, near and far, Let voices rise like morning star. Not for glory, not for show, But for the Gospel’s seeds to grow.