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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Whilst the huge auditorium focused on the plushness of seat, Lost little children were dying in a street Far away, out of sight Out of view of money’s might Whilst the missionary was struggling to make ends meet Well-dressed ushers reached out to greet The sheep that in droves every Sunday flock To sit in the most revered and favoured block Whilst the children would learn under a tree About how Jesus came to set them free Plump bottoms sank down in luxurious rows As the volume of the music beautifully grows Tears streamed down the upheld face Overwhelmed by music more than by Grace Hands were reaching in public display As for lost souls and countries they would all pray Yet under their noses, under their gaze, The lost masses and they were on two different ways One heading down road small and craggy With bare feet and clothing all shaggy The others on paths creatively paved Walking to cars, the spoils of the saved Heading out to the broad soft highway To the fenced safe haven where they all stay Whilst the lost, on roads that are dusty Exposed to the cold and winds cold and gusty Find a gate, so incredibly small That leads to the most wonderful hall Filled with treasures, heaped in great masses Filled with healers with ointment for lashes Filled with love and Grace divine Filled with bread and delicious wine And looking down on the lost and weary On their crying eyes all red and bleary Reaching out with hand hot and dry Praying for relief from the vast blue sky And as the shaggy mourns for the souls that are lost The financial committee was counting the cost Of what was left at the end of the day To send to the poor missionaries so far away Very little, this month, I’m afraid to say For the faithful to tithe we should earnestly pray! Withholding spirit, we bind you now! They proclaim and shout and pray and bow
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