We came to fight a war, to liberate a poor
Nation from the bondage
Of its despot.
We came with tank and gun; we thought that we had won
Look at the Man on the tree
His arms stretched out,
How beautiful are the feet of those who are wearing shoes of peace,
Who tread the dusty, desert paths and Wilderness-harsh streeets;
Tramping feet that march in time to the joyful song of glory,
Bringing hope unto the hopeless as they tell the Gospel story.
When all your friends have left you
And it seems there's no-one left,
Recall the Man from Nazareth;
He's the Friend Who'll love you best.
Drifting around on a cloud,
Waiting for something to happen,
I talk to myself out aloud
Trying to break a monotonous pattern.
What is this life, if full of care
We have no time to stand and stare
At puppy droppings on the floor,
Enhanced with worms and print of paw?
Falling asleep on God's shoulder,
Wrapped in a blanket of prayer,
Kept by His love from all danger,
I find my solace there.
A sullen, sneering wind whines round the ship.
Punched and tossed about by mighty waves with mighty fists,
She shudders as her rust scarred face is slapped in jest
And tears stream down her peeling paint.