WHAT IS A MISSIONARY? Will you look on this one whom the Lord has called forth To witness unto Him, east, west, south, or north? Look at him who was called from his loved ones apart, And wherefore? For answer, friend, look at his heart. Especially saintly, this witness? Oh, no! It was not innate goodness that called him to go. The need of the heathen— was this then the cause? No; neither was hope of men's praise and applause. What makes a man all earthly honor dismiss? God's real missionary is commissioned by this: His affections are set upon our God above, Whose love is commanding, whose command is to love. — Wancla Howard, Biola '54 PRESSED Pressed out of measure and pressed to all length, Pressed so intently, it seems beyond strength, Pressed in the body, and pressed in the soul, Pressed in the mind, till the dark surges roll. Pressure by foes, and pressure by friends, Pressure on pressure till life nearly ends. Pressed into knowing no helper but God, Pressed into loving the staff and the rod. Pressed into liberty where nothing clings; Pressed into faith for impossible things. Pressed into living a life in the Lord, Pressed into living a Christ-life out poured.
PSALM 23 The Lord is my Shepherd. What want can be mine? M y hand is clasped close in that dear hand of Thine. Thy pastures are green and Thy wa ters are still; M y soul is restored as it drinketh its fill. All day for Thy name's sake Thou leadest my feet In paths that are righteous and pleas ant and sweet. What though through the valley of death I must go I fear not its shadow of evil, I know.' That thou wilt go with me each step of the way, Thy rod and Thy staff for my comfort and stay, I dine at Thy table; Thine own hand doth pour The oil on my head, my cup runneth o'er. Thy goodness and mercy shall not leave my side Till at last in the house of my Lord I abide. — Martha Snell Nicholson WHAT SHALL I GIVE HIM ? Oh, the wonder of the thought Jesus my own soul has bought, For a sinner such as I, The Saviour came on earth to die. And yet He did, He loved me so, That to the cross He'd gladly go. He let them nail Him to a tree Just from sin to set me free. Oh, what gift can I then bring? I'd gladly give Him anything, But I am poor, I have no gold, No treasure in my hand I hold. And yet for gold He does not ask, Just that I do my humble task For love of Him, to do my part, And give to Him, my whole heart!
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