While swooners strummed and Western bands so sweetly played,
and sweat of brow was earned in lechery, not hope,
A Rev’rend, gentle man in Africa has prayed
for child enslaved and adult sentenced to the rope.
He’s sacrificed a thousand lives to give them Christ,
and he is better for it  (oh my Lord, how much!)
for we have chased our love to “progress”, highly-priced,
but him? the kingdom of our God belongs to such.
If we would find a way to back off from the edge,
to stop our world’s last leaping at the precipice,
we must look far from Home, our prouder bets to hedge;
yes, back to those we thought we’d taught all blessedness.
His skin is black, but beautiful his striving soul;
his kin shall whisper “Faith” to us, whose hearts are coal.

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