Missionary Poems

I'm glad you are being blessed, bapmom.

I included six of my poems in Chapter 4 of my book, mentioned above, The Making of a Soul Winner. I'm putting this book on my website as I scan it in. Other than that, no poetry book yet. Maybe someday.

 

Here is another one from when I was contemplating joining the mission board and beginning deputation. It's on the light side, but speaks to the matter of faithfulness, and how a missionary must never quit!


THE INCHWORM
By John R. Himes, 1977, on seeing an inchworm climb six feet up a spider's thread to a tree branch.

Hey, Mr. Inchworm, climbing up the spider rope,
Why do you squirm so, seeking to prolong the joke?

Look, Mr. Inchworm, hanging from the tree there,
You know you can't make it, climbing six feet in the air!

Wow, Mr. Inchworm, now you have my admiration!
All that it took was a lion-king's determination.

Please, Mr. Inchworm, as you bundle thread in claws,
Tell me your secret; how may I pursue my cause?

Thanks for the inch worm, Father in the Heavenly place,
Teaching me how I may keep on running in your race.

 

This one is probably from sometime in the early 1980’s, in Japan. It is short, but after I had written it I didn't see anything else I could add. These few words said it all for me. After all, the primary form of poetry here in Japan is the haiku, with only 17 syllables!


Jesus
By John R. Himes

Jesus, I love Thy charming name.
'Tis music to my ear.
Fain would I sound it out so loud
That Heaven and Earth might hear!

 

Here is another short one from the same time period as the previous one, in Japan sometime in the early 1980's.


Souls Are Lost
By John R. Himes


Souls are lost and dying,
In darkness undone.
Hearts are breaking, hurting,
Waiting to be won.
Jesus is calling, pleading,
For witness true.
Harvest is standing, waiting,
Ready for you!

 

The Narrow Road
By John R. Himes, 4/24/85


Though all the world says, "Yes," I can still say, "No!"
When all the world says, "All right," I may say, "All wrong!"
If all the world says, "You may," I may say, "I won't."
Since all the world says, "Self," I must say, "Others."
After all the world says, "Why?" I reply, "Christ!"

BUT,

Now all the world says, "Stop," but I still go.
So all the world says, "Quit," but I persevere.
And all the world urges, "Relax," but I must press on.
When all the world sighs, "Empty," then I am full.
To the world's cry of "Defeat," I proclaim victory.

"For me to live is Christ, but to die is gain."

 

Help Me Remember
By John R. Himes
May 29, 1984, in Yokohama, Japan

Lord, help me remember those without you,
For many would trust You if only they knew.
If only my cold heart had love for the sinner,
For dry eyes do not show a broken soul winner.

One day a small seed fell on black and rich soil,
And struggled and burst with travail and with toil.
Its death grew a fruit tree and needs gratified.
In just the same way, Christ my Lord, may I die.


“Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit” (John 12:24).

 

What a blessing, mnw. Please keep sharing.

 

And that is my first goal on the BB, to be a blessing.

 

Wonderful Love
By John R. Himes
8/13/89

Oh, what a wonderful love that
God should walk with me each day.
Oh, how His wonderful presence
Fills my heart with joy, I can say.
Please take my precious Redeemer
Into your heart. Don’t delay!
For He will always be with you,
This Jesus Christ of the Calvary way.

 

Yep...in Japanese. I've written several choruses in Japanese.

 

This excellent poem is not mine, but it's by that famous author, Unknown.


Send Me

Let none hear you idly saying,
"There is nothing I can do,"
While the souls of men are dying
And the Master calls for you.

Take the task He gives you gladly.
Let His work your pleasure be.
Answer quickly when He calleth,
"Here am I, send me, send me!"

 

This little poem will be the last one from the notebook I found, though I may post a few others I've written or been blessed by. I wrote it in Japan sometime in the early 1980’s about a sweet memory I had from when I was about four years old. How I missed my grandfather!

Grandpa died in 1980, just a few months before we came to Japan in 1981. What a privilege it was to go to the funeral and hear most of the `major leaders of Fundamentalism praise him: Lee Roberson, Jack Hyles, John Rawlings, Jerry Falwell, Bob Kelley, Bob Sumner, Bil Rice III and Pete Rice, Walt Handford, Tom Malone, Curtis Hutson. Bob Jones Jr. and others were there but didn't speak, and many others sent flowers or messages, including the two senators from Tennessee (Jim Sassar and Howard Baker), the representatives, Billy and Ruth Graham and a number of other SBC notables, and President Elect Ronald Reagan.

However, I have something none of them had. I have so many sweet memories of John R. Rice as my grandfather. I remember when I reached college in 1970, a breathless freshman asked me, "What did you call him?" Well, what did you call your grandfather?


Grandpa
By John R. Himes

“Grandpa” was the name I called him,
Perhaps sometimes “Grandad.”
I sat upon his knee
When I was just a little lad.

He said, “What do you want to be
When you become a man?”
“A preacher!” That is what I told him;
That is what I am!

 

This is the poem my Aunt Grace MacMullen, John R. Rice's oldest daughter, wrote for the program passed out at his funeral in 1980. She followed him to Heaven not too long after.


Someone Special Is Coming Home!
Grace Rice MacMullen
December 29, 1980


A shiver of excitement shimmered through the crystal air.
“Someone’s coming! Someone special!” angels whispered on the stair.
As an angel told a seraph (angels love to tell good news!)
And the seraph told another in the language seraphs use.

The tidings spread like wildfire, and the balconies began
To be filled with wondering watchers as the word like ripples ran,
“God’s special, chosen servant has begun the journey’s end!”
“Oh, I know him!” “I must see him when he’s coming down the bend!
I must be up close to see him,” says an eager, sweet-faced soul.
“Why, he won me to the Saviour,” cried another bright and whole.

“These robes of white I’m wearing are because he preached the Word.”
“Down in Dallas...” “Back in Wheaton ...” “Buffalo his witness heard.”
And the praise to God kept growing as the word was flashed above.
“Praise the Lord that he was faithful and kept telling of God’s love.”
“And, oh, you know his prayers—he could reach the ear of God,
Pouring out, prevailing, pleading, till he saw the answering nod.”

His coming home was not as easy as some thought it should be.
(It takes some time just to organize things.)
So he lingered, and that mighty heart, so strong for fighting wrong
Now bent to the task in a valiant effort,
Needed time to run more softly, take a cadence new and low.
The clock ticked on, but quietly, and the great heart struggled slow.
Breathing, long easy, now took on a labored tone.
Loved ones gathered, watched and waited, sensed those others, not alone.
As he groped among the midlands, neither here nor wholly Home;
And in time—no, in eternity, where time has lost its sphere—
There came an order and delight to all the pulsing plans.

The crowd of those who loved him when he led them to the Lord—
Well, that group kept on growing, a cheerful, eager horde.
From countries far, and counties near, from years both fresh and dim
They cried with joy and a snatch of song, “My salvation came through him.”
But another group gathered, with different stance, more a wistful, longing glance,
“My darling son! It’s been so long! Now I’ll hold you close again!”
“It’s my brother John,” a glad voice says, “and I’ve loved him all my life,
Like a brother, father, teacher, friend, I learned all I know from John.
Let me be the one, dear Lord, I plead,”
Said a creature tall and strong, still learning to walk in a broad new gait,
“Let me saddle his heavenly steed.”

Whatever they do for a favorite son, that’s what they’re doing up there:
A robe and a ring, some fabulous thing—God’s love gift of welcoming cheer.
And the angels, I know, don’t have to be told
His name or how to pronounce it. For down through the years,
When the call comes with joy, “Rejoice! A Sheep has come home;
Write the name in the Lamb’s Book of Life!”
“Who spread the Word? Whose beautiful feet published the tidings of joy?”
“A boy named John R., a poor college boy,”
“A hard-working Corporal Rice.” “A preacher...” “A pastor...” “Revivalist”
“Writer...” “An elderly saint—John R. Rice.”

A few days passed—on earth, that is—and the loved ones waited still
While he hovered yet in some vestibule, held by the hand of God’s will.
They were eager to have him home at last, and free from the body’s clay,
Yet reluctant still to say goodbye, see the spirit slip away.

Finally all was ready. It took but a look
From Father to Son: “Let him come!
All things are ready; his place is prepared.”
Nail-scarred hands join in welcoming reach.

A flutter of flags, a fanfare of trumpet, a burst of angelic chorus,
The cloud-curtains part, and in glorious splendor
That shining new creature steps forth.
“He’s here! Home at last! See the joy on his face!
No sorrow or sighing or frown.”
The Saviour with infinite love and compassion embraces the newest arrival.
All Heaven breaks forth, pealing praises to God;
He’s home, home at last! Oh, welcome the soul winner home!

 

Amen, Gwen. We sorrow not as others who have no hope.