A poem by a dear lady in New Zealand Joan Suisted from her collection Sunlight and Shadows
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SOMEONE ELSE’S SON
“Lord, send the workers out today,
The ripened fields are all around,
The heavy ears are bent, and break
And lie forgotten on th ground.
The harvest wilts beneath the sun,
(But Lord, send someone else’s son.)”
“Lord raise up workers for the task
To fearlessly proclaim the Word
To those enslaved in Satan’s power
Who die, the Gospel still unheard.
Lost, precious souls, who must be won
(But, Lord, send someone else’s son).”
“Lord thrust new workers out today;
The few who toil are worn and spent,
You know how earnestly they pray
For helpers and encouragement.
There is so much that must be done
(But please send someone else’s son).”
And so I prayed, or thought I prayed,
Until he answered, with a sigh,
“I love My Son. I saw your need
And let Him die. Suppose that I
Had said, “Yes, something must be done,
But let’s send someone else’s son’?”
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