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My Choice
I want my breakfast served at 'Eight',
With ham and eggs upon the plate;
A well-broiled steak I'll eat at 'One',
And dine again when day is done.
I want an ultra-modern home,
And in each room a telephone;
Soft carpets, too, upon the floors,
And pretty drapes to grace the doors.
A cozy place of lovely things,
Like easy chairs with inner springs,
And then I'll get a small TV -
Of course, 'I'm careful what I see'.
I want my wardrobe, too, to be,
Of neatest, finest quality,
With latest style in suit and vest.
Why shouldn't Christians have the best?
But then the Master I can hear,
In no uncertain voice, so clear.
'I bid you come and follow me,
The lowly man of Galilee.
Birds of the air have made their nest,
And foxes in their holes find rest;
But I can offer you no bed;
No place have I to lay my head.'
In shame I hung my head and cried.
How could I spurn the crucified?
Could I forget the way He went,
The sleepless nights in prayer He spent?
For forty days without a bite,
Alone He fasted day and night;
Despised, rejected - on He went,
And did not stop till veil He rent.
A man of sorrows and of grief,
No earthly friend to bring relief -
'Smitten by God', the prophet said -
Mocked, beaten, bruised, His blood ran red.
If He be God and died for me,
No sacrifice too great can be
For me, a mortal man, to make;
I'll do it all for Jesus' sake.
Yes, I will tread the path He trod,
No other way will please my God;
So, henceforth, this my choice shall be,
My choice for all eternity.
Bill McChesney
Bill McChesney had gone to Congo from Phoenix, Arizona, and had been
there from 1960 just prior to Congo's Independence. An American Protestant
missionary, he became the target of antagonism and hatred, and from time to
time he was held in custody, severely beaten, and became a sick man. On 25
November, he was again arrested at the mission location. There appears to be
some uncertainty about how he died.
TIME magazine reported: The Simbas performed a mad war dance on his
prostrate body until internal bleeding from ruptured organs ended his agony.
Then they plucked out his eyes and threw his corpse into the Samba River.
He was twenty-eight.
Graham, Jim. The Giant Awakes. London: Marshall Morgan & Scott, 1982. |