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Why Didn’t You Let Us Know? By elderly Indian woman who receive Christ

You have had the Gospel message,

you have known a saviors love;

Your dear ones passed from Cristian homes,

To the Blessed land above.

Why did you let our father’s die,

And into silence go?

With no thought of Christ to comfort,

Why didn’t you let us know?

Why didn’t you tell us sooner?

The words came sad and low;

O ye who knew the Gospel truths,

Why didn’t you let us know?

The Savior died for those who sin,

He died to save from woe;

But we never heard the story,

Why didn’t you let us know?

There is an Urgency at Harvest Time

Too long I’ve laid me down to sleep

And prayed the Lord my soul to keep.

I should wake before I die,

And realize time is passing by

And rise and go and tell the lost

Despite my plans, despite the cost.

Too long I’ve laid me down to sleep

While multitudes about me weep

And utter cries of dark despair

While many do not seem to care.

My life is short and soon I’ll stand

With sinners blood upon my hand.

Unless I wake before I die

And realize time is passing by.

A Fool For Christ by Missionary Ezra Brainard

I could pursue a life of fun and ease,

With riches, games, and other things that please.

The hardships of my path I could evade

And follow steps my Lord has never laid;

But leaving all my hopes and dreams behind,

I trust that greater riches I shall find.

I glory in my weakness and my pain ~

For earthly loss will bring eternal gain.

 

I could pursue acceptance from all men

And fear the grave, the stake, the lion’s den.

I could pursue a well-known, honored name ~

And seek approval, praise, and earthly fame.

I choose instead affliction with my Lord,

Esteeming His reproach as my reward.

I glory in my weakness and my pain ~

For earthly loss will bring eternal gain.

 

To live for Christ is foolish to the world ~

But when the sinners into hell are hurled,

And fools for Christ have not a single fear,

Then who was truly foolish will be clear.

 

Without exception every man’s a fool ~

I choose for Christ, and bear the ridicule.

I glory in my weakness and my pain ~

For earthly loss will bring eternal gain.

THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
I looked o’er life’s great harvest-field
And thought, “What can I do?”
The needs are great, the fields are white,
But laborers are few.

I can not be a Spurgeon or
A Whitefield, great and wise,
Who swayed the multitudes and wrote
Their names upon the skies.

If I could preach like sainted Paul
Or write up something new,
I’d only be too glad; but, oil,
There’s nothing I can do.

If I could start in life anew
And have a higher aim,
I might accomplish more and reach
Some pinnacle of fame.

Or, if my parents had been great
Or ancestry been wise,
The blood that’s in my veins might surge
And waft me to the skies.

But time is short, my means are small,
And talents very few;
So in despair I sit and say,
“There’s nothing I can do.”

But, hark! I hear from out the gloom,
“Whate’er is done by thee
To one of those, my little ones,
Is done as unto me.”

The little things shall be my work,
His praise alone I’ll view,
Nor will I ever sadly say,
“There’s nothing I can do.”

LIGHT FOR AFRICA

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Once Africa sat in darkness,
Too blind to unfasten her doors;
Not knowing the strength that was in her,
Not knowing the wealth of her stores.

In lands where the Master was honored
A tender compassion was stirred,
And many the lives that were given
To open those doors to the Word.

Today there is entrance; wide open
The doors now invitingly stand,
And science and commerce are bearing
Their torches across the dark land.

And Christ, the Redeemer of nations,
Is bidding us rise in His might,
And carry to Africa’s children
The Gospel of blessing and light.

LAUNCH OUT

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Launch out into the deep,
The awful depths of a world’s despair;
Hearts that are breaking and eyes that weep,
Sorrow and ruin and death are there.

And the sea is wide, and the pitiless tide
Bears on his bosom away — away,

Beauty and youth in relentless ruth
To its dark abyss for aye — for aye.

But the Master’s voice comes over the sea,
“Let down your nets for a draught for me”;

He stands in our midst on our wreck-strewn strand,
And sweet and royal is his command.

His pleading call
Is teach — to all;

And wherever the royal call is heard,
There hang the nets of the royal world.

Trust to the nets and not to your skill,
Trust to the royal Master’s will;

Let down your nets each day, each hour,
For the word of a king is a word of power,

And the King’s own voice comes over the sea,
“Let down your nets for a draught for me.”

MISSIONS AND MINDING

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
I want to tell you something!
I heard my teacher say,
“I don’t believe in missions.
I don’t think I will pay
A single cent of money
To go so far away!”

I really think that’s wicked,
Because — why, don’t you know?
Our dear Lord told his people
Before he left them, “Go
And preach to ev’ry nation”;
Our Lord himself said “Go !”

I wonder what my teacher
Would think if I should say,
“I don’t believe in minding,”
And then I’d run away
And do whatever pleased me —
I wonder what she’d say?

“I don’t believe in missions” ;
That’s what some people say.
“I don’t believe in minding,”
They mean, and turn away
From Jesus’ last commandment
And grieve him ev’ry day.

THE MULTITUDE’S NEED

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Souls in heathen darkness lying
Where no ligl’.t has broken through,
Souls that Jesus bought by dying,
Whom his soul in travail knew.
Thousand voices
Call us, o’er the waters blue.
Christians, harken; none has taught them
Of his love so deep and dear;
Of the precious price that bought them;
Of the nail, the thorn, the spear.
Ye who know him,
Guide them from their darkness drear.
Haste, oh, haste, and spread the tidings
Wide to earth’s remotest strand;
Let no brother’s bitter chidings
Rise against us when we stand
In the judgment,
From some far, forgotten land.