■ rowing O lder? ■ ■ ■ ■ I ¡ ■ ■ ■ I Recently KING'S BUSINESS col-' umnist, Joyce Landorf, sent us a poem written by Mrs. Nellie Coons of Orange Grove, Calif, who just recently became 84 years of age. Her daugh ter, Mrs. Esther Clark of Lakewood says, "What a wonderful testimony her life is to anyone whom she sees or talks to. To me she is a Christ filled miracle, My Mom." Here is Mrs. Coons' poem: GROWING OLD Just how does it feel to be 83? That's the question they're asking me. Well, I can't run a race or climb a tree; I'm not as spry as I used to be. But most of the time I feel just fine 'Cept a few stiff joints and a crick in my spine. The Lord, He's been real good to me. I still putter around and can hear and see. My appetite's one of the very best, I don't get skinny like some of the rest. I sometimes wish I could turn back the years; Feel sorry for myself and shed a few tears. I have many kind friends and loved ones by the score. How could anyone ask for anything more? And a loving Heavenly Father who watches night and day That we don't wander too far away. I love the little ones and teenagers too; They cheer me up when I feel blue. Sure, I've made many mistakes as most folks do But the Lord, He understands — He trod this road, too. We can't look back; we must move on and on And one day we will reach that beau tiful dawn. Old Father Time is telling me every day That this old house I live in is wear ing away. The building is old and I'm bent and gray— But to seek to repair it, .it would not pay. But inside this house I've seen many joys With five fine girls and two fine boys. I've watched them grow up to woman hood and manhood, too And thank God they love and serve Him, too. I've many loved ones who have gone on before And one day we'll meet on that beautiful shore. So just let me be my own plain self; Retired maybe, but not laid on the shelf.
I've tried to be thankful and patient since I've retired And one of these days, we know not how soon, I'll be moving on into another room. Each day is a new day, God's gift of time, So I'll just mosey along and enjoy the sunshine. I hope when I leave this old world behind Someone will say, "To me she was kind." In reading such a lovely poem we can certainly add the words of Scrip ture, "Her children rise up and call her blessed." ONE WAS TAKEN You knew John? Yes, he that was talking, talking, Ever talking of his hope of Christ's return. Men grow tired of cant. Some frowned, others mocking, Laughed and went their way, content no more to learn. But John was quite sincere in all his harping, Harping, harping, "Friend, the Lord may come today." Men rhight frown or laugh, or at his faith, carping Critic sneer, John still would smile and have his say. We were working in the field that day, plowing, John and I. "Just such a day as this," he said, "The Lord will come and call, while men are going To their tasks. He won, the living and the dead"— "John," said I, "enough of that. In all ages Men have dreamed that Christ would come. It is absurd— Fairytale, childish, fit for children's pages." Leaning on his plow, John answered not nor heard. "Hark! His trumpet and His $hout!" Still I flouted; For I heard nothing, saw nothing, though John's face Grew so glorified, I turned away. Doubted Yet; but when I looked again, there was no trace Of John, save his plow and his old clothes lying On the ground— the sky unchanged, the earth not cleft. Two men were working in the field— one praying— John was,, taken and I— O God! I was left! — L. M. Hollingsworth McConnelsville, Ohio Copied from King's Business August 1927.
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