Mrs. Charles Cowman
--Missionary to China
—from Streams in the Desert
THINE WAS the harvest,
Thine was the field,
Thine was the pleasure,
When to yield a crop of the heathen—
From nations inclined to idols and man,
And custom so blind—
To enter Thy kingdom, Lord.
I was a vessel fit by your hand,
To carry Your Spirit into a land
That in darkness sat and mourned
Who in sin had all been born
Tossed to and fro like the waves
of the sea,
Tossed to and fro with none to see
That You had come and
died in their place,
To end their suffering.
I labored there, I felt in vain,
I struggled long hours filled with pain
In hope that I might bring one soul
From darkness into light.
Through many nights, I struggled and toiled
filled with anxiety, grief, forlorn
To see the kingdom of darkness fall,
before Your nail pierced feet.
One day the light began to break,
as I sat in your Presence, my whole heart ached
My struggle, my striving seemed all in vain.
And then My dear Lord spoke to me—
“Cast your net on the other side.”
It's hopeless I thought, yet because of His voice –
that was filled with such peace and thought not of my loss –
At His bidding, I arose and cast into the sea,
The net I had thrown out over me
and brought back so often an empty sieve.
And so as I pulled the load was so big –
I called out for help from my fellows aboard.
And we worked and we labored and we toiled all night,
But it seemed as nothing
Because of the light that shown
as a beacon all glorious and bright—
and we let up the harvest all through the night.
And His Presence was so glorious that worship flowed
out of our hearts once so full of coldness and doubt.
And we learned a secret that glorious night that in His Presence,
Is fullness of light, of joy
unspeakable, abounding and free—
and a harvest of souls
not for you or for me,
But for Him, if in His Presence we'll wait –
For the word and command
and the privilege of being
a part of His plan.
The kingdoms shall fall at His nail pierced feet,
And the darkness of sorrow
Shall shatter at light and glory that flows by
His power and might.
And to Him, not to me all the glory shall go.
For His is the kingdom,
His is the net,
His is the boat,
And the power to get.
And I am His vessel.
At His bidding I wait
To labor in the harvest,
In His Presence full of rest, to yield to His Spirit—to bring forth His best,
When everything within is His and not mine
His
vessel, His anointing,
His Redemption and His time.
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