The Field

Through the dirt and the sand,

He held in his hand, 

A beaten and wooden stick.

He drug it through Hell, 

So we could come to the well, 

And drink from the cup of life.


One day I was young, 

And as the choir sung, 

I knew what I needed to do. 

So I picked up the Book, 

And took one last look, 

At the life I was leaving behind. 


There were tears in my eyes, 

As I said my good byes, 

The Joy is overwhelming. 

Until in the missions field, 

I will not yield, 

for God's Will is where I'll stay. 


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