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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.

“GO YE”

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
“Go ye” was the last command
The disciples heard
As their Christ, the risen Lord,
Spoke his final word.

Just before he left for heaven
In that chariot fair,
He expressed his last desire,
“Go ye ev’rywhere.”

Let the gospel sound be known
Throughout all the world,
Let the truth with mighty force
Have her folds unfurled.

For my pow’r will elevate
Man, though low and vain,
To the heights of holiness,
Cleansed from ev’ry stain.”

So the tidings come to us, —
“Let the heathen know
Of the conquering pow’r of God
Sin to overthrow.”

“Go ye unto all the tribes,
Into ev’ry sphere”;
He expressed his last desire —
“Go ye ev’rywhere.”

DO WE WELL?

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
To the Syrian camp at twilight,
Hungry, thirsty, bleeding, sore,
Came four leprous men of Israel;
Found they there abundant store —

Gold and silver, food and raiment.
“We must go the message tell,
‘Tis a day of joyful tidings;
Waiting here, we do not well.”
CHORUS.
‘Tis the day of full salvation;
Go the joyful message tell.
While we wait, the millions perish.
And we do not well.
Do we well, my precious brethren?
While they starve and die for bread,
We with heaven’s richest blessings
Are so bountifully fed.

If we tarry till the morning,
Mischief shall our souls befall.
Go and tell earth’s dying millions
There is bread enough for all.

India’s lost ones still are crying
From that sin-benighted land;
Hear those wails from darkest China,
And from Egypt’s sunlit strand!

While a soul remains in darkness
And in idleness we dwell,
Selfishly the truth enjoying,
Brethren dear, we do not well.

While a few have crossed the ocean,
Leaving all for Jesus’ name,
There is room for many others;
Go, the gospel news proclaim!

Those who roam in sin’s dominion
Can be rescued yet from hell;
While a moment’s left to save them,
If we wait, we do not well.

If we labor on for Jesus
And to every dying one
Tell the glad and joyful tidings
Till life’s fleeting day is done,

When we stand before the judgment
While our hearts with rapture swell,
We shall hear the Savior saying,
“Ye have done exceeding well.”

WHAT CAN I SPARE?

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company

“What can I spare?” we say.
“Ah, this and this,
From mine array
I am not like to miss;

And here are crumbs to feed some hungry one;
They do but grow a cumbrance on my shelf” —
And yet one reads, Our Father gave his Son,
Our Master gave himself.