Shiv'ring by night when the day's course is run; Snipping at enemies as planes roar o'erhead; We succor the living; we bury the dead. Down in the rice paddy, death all around. Planes in the blue sky, bombs on the ground; Terror and darkness are with us at night, Evil stalks everywhere in broad daylight; No hope for a respite when the day is done, No place out of range of the rifle or gun. Down in the Viet swamp, far from our friends, The flash of a rifle— another life ends. Fever and fatigue wrack body and soul. Life is a torture in this dismal hole; Yet we're buoyed up in our terrible plight; For God is still with us, and our cause is right. Down in the swamp hole with one life to give; Freely it's given that freedom may live; Closer and closer we cling to the earth Dreaming of home and the land of our birth; We stand by our comrades, no foes can divide; We're true to our buddies who fight by our side. Down in the rice paddy, under thè rain, Hoping our efforts will not be in vain; Bearing the brunt of unending fight, Doing our utmost for God and the right. Americans, pray for your sons on the line; Be true to your country; seek guid ance divine. — by an American serviceman stationed in Vietnam
A T TH E CLOSE OF DAY Was I empty, Master, when You needed me today? Was I wholly yielded, as a vessel made of clay? Was I fully consecrated, ready at Thy hand? Was I waiting, Master, to go forth at Thy command? Was I burdened, rather, with a load of worldly care? Was I doing this and that, or rushing here and there? Was I busy seeking pleasure, after my own choice? Was I so engrossed with self I could not hear Thy voice? Oh why did I waste this day I held within my grip? Oh why did I carelessly ignore it, let it slip? Oh why did I fail to hear, dear Lord, Thy soft request? Oh why did I fail to go, and do, at Thy behest? What if this has been my final chance to do Thy will? What if, ere the morning dawns, this heart lies cold and still? What if, at the break of day, I stand before Thy throne? What if, stripped of earthly things, I stand undone, alone? Master, bend Thy loving ear and lis ten to me pray! Master, blot out all of the idle follies of today! Master, should Thou yet see fit to us$ this life of mine! Master, help me walk with Thee, and keep my hand in Thine. — Alvy E. Ford IN SOUTH V IETN AM : 1966 Down in the swamp paddy under the sky, A place full of horror to live or to die, Burning by day in the heat of the sun,
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