Two Months a Missionary
By Clifford L. Oviatt
Memory lingers as a hangman
Over all my thoughts so kind,
As I think of happy faces,
And of friends I left behind;
As I hold my pen it trembles:
In my throat, there’s something swells
Which I cannot seem to swallow,
And o’er my eyes a dimness wells.
When I think of all the kind hands,
Firm and ready, there to guide,
As I staggered down life’s roadway
There to help me at my side.
I was blind and young and reckless,
Thinking naught but of myself.
How did they keep hoping, praying,
That some day I’d find the path?
In my prayers I ask for courage,
Ask for faith and strength and time,
That the Lord will bless my labors
In this work here, so sublime:
So that I may be found worthy
Of the trust that’s placed in me,
That with them I may be always
Throughout all eternity.