Above the crash of the tempest, the voice of the Stranger broke "Behold, the ruin of the harvest — this is the heathen!" He spoke. "The storm that so wildly rages, is God's great Judgment Day!" And I woke, and wept in repentance as there on my bed I lay. Calling on God in the heavens, with contrite spirit I prayed: "O Lord, I will be a worker! Too long, too long have I played! Because of the ripened harvest, I give You my heart and my arm; I'll spend my strength in the valleys to save the grain from the storm." Last night I took a journey To a land across the seas, I didn't go by boat or plane, I traveled on my knees. I saw so many people there In deepest depths of sin. And Jesus told me I should go— That there were souls to win. But I said, "Saviour, I can't go And work with such as these." He answered quickly, "Yes, you can, By traveling on your knees." He said, "You pray; I'll meet the need. You call, and I will hear. Be anxious over all lost souls, Of those both far and near." And so I tried it, knelt in prayer, Gave up some hours of ease; I felt the Lord right by my side While traveling on my knees. As I prayed on and saw souls saved, And twisted bodies healed, I saw God's workers' strength renewed While labouring in the field. I said, "Yes, Lord, I have a job, 'Tis Thee I'd ever please. I'll gladly go and heed Thy call By traveling on my knees." TRA V ELING ON M Y KNEES
THE HARVEST A N D THE TEMPEST Deep in the shadow of slumber, one night I lay on my bed, And dreamed I stood on a mountain, with valleys before me spread. The valleys were wide, and yellow, with beautiful waving grain; But a cloud hung black in the dis tance, loaded with tempest and rain. . Looking, I saw in the valley, laborers — but, oh, so few!! I knew the gathering tempest would break before they were through. Although they were all so busy, bend ing themselves to the work, They saw the storm was approaching and knew that they dared not shirk. Then near the foot of the mountain, I happened to turn my eyes. And there stood a Man whose visage was brighter than sunset skies: He spoke— in suck tones of sorrow it caused my heart to bleed; " Behold, how white is the harvest— with reapers so few indeed!" "Why are the workers not many?" I thought to myself— and then I glanced about me and noticed the mountains were full of men; Men who were laughing and joking, playing some sort of a game; Not seeing how ripe the harvest, or heeding the storm that came. Soon I could stand it no longer. "Listen!" I shouted again. "The tempest will soon be rushing over the beautiful grain. Why waste your time in a frolic? Look at that gathering cloud!" But one of them quickly answered, "You're one of this idle crowd." Then came the crash of the tempest, the rushing wind, and the rain Came howling over the valleys, ruining the yellow grain: The heavens were rocked with thun der, the lightning split the skies, Till we who stood on the mountain covered our poor, blinded eyes!
— Sandra Goodwin
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