A Grace Livingston Hill Book called Crimson Mountain.
(A story about a Single Soldier on furlow, along with his girl friend, who eventually finds Jesus.)
It was not a large handsome church. Just a little old fashioned place that had the air of a good many years ago. The carpet was worn, the seats were a bit narrow and hard, and the windows wore no stained glass. But everything was clean and attractive, and the sun was shining in across the heads of the people, touching them with a sort of glory -look, and there seemed to be loving kindness in every face. The two young people sat down and looked about them wonderingly. What was it that made this simple gathering so different from other types of worshiping places? It seemed as if God was there. As if they could almost see Him, if they could only get the earth mist brushed away from their eyes.
And then the singing! They were not cultures voices, but they had the sweetness and heartiness of voices that were singing from the heart. They both joined in and began to feel a thrill of belonging to this little company of worshipers, worshiping in spirit and in truth.
The minster was young almost like themselves, but he spoke with the deep convicting of one who believed with all his soul what he was saying, and it seemed that all the congregation had brought their Bibles. Someone stepped across the aisle and handed the two young strangers Bibles from a pile in the end of the seat, and they took them and turned over the pages.