MY hand is on the plough;
But all in front of me is untilled land,
The wilderness and the solitary place,
The lonely desert with its interspace.
What harvest have I but this paltry grain,
These dwindling husks, a handful of dry corn
My courage is outworn, keep me from turning back.
The handles of my plough with tears are wet,
The shears with rust are spoiled, and yet, and yet,
My God, keep me from turning back.
(These lines were found among the possessions of a lone missionary who died in the forests of Thailand. They are extracted from James Fraser – A Record of Missionary Endeavour in Rhodesia in the Twentieth Century, by the Rev. Alexander McPherson.)