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.