Ahead
Written by Jack Shuler

Those who win are those who try;
Not the kind who alibi!
Start, and never let it die -
Keep going!

Life will never bring success
To the man who’s motionless;
Crowns are made for those who press -
Keep moving!

Do you want to gain the prize?
All those castles realize?
There’s no limit but the skies -
Keep Climbing!

Those who've won are round about;
When you score you’ll hear them shout!
Let no foe your courage flout -
Keep fighting!

Sure!  It’s worth it when you stand
With that chosen, faithful band
Who inherit Canaan land -
Keep striving!

Guess there won’t be much to do
When you’re dead, and buried too:
Now’s the time to see it through -
Keep driving!

Oh to vict’ry!  Never quit!
Heroes make a drive for it!
Here’s life!  Use it ever bit -
Keep living!

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Little Black Dog
Written by Elizabeth Gardiner Reynolds

I wonder if Christ had a little black dog
    All curly and woolly like mine;
With two silky ears, and a nose round and wet
    And eyes brown and tender that shine.

I am sure, if He had, that the little black friend
    Knew right from the first He was God;
That he needed no proofs that Christ was divine,
    But just worshipped the ground the He trod.

I’m afraid that He hadn’t, because I have read
    How He prayed in the garden, alone!
For all of His friends and disciples had fled -
    Even Peter, the one called "a stone."

And, oh, I am sure that the little black dog
    With a heart so tender and warm
Would never have left Him to suffer alone,
    But creeping right under His arm.

Would have licked those dear fingers in agony clasped
    And counting all favors but loss;
When they took Him away, would have trotted behind,
    And followed Him clear to the Cross!

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Little Boy Blue
Written by Eugene Field
 
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
    But sturdy and staunch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
    And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
    And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
    Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don’t you go till I come," he said,
    "And don’t you make any noise!"
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
    He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
    Awaked the Little Boy blue -
Oh! The years are many, the years are long,
    But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
    Each in the same old place -
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
    The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
    In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
    Since he kissed them and put them there.

From Collected Poems of Eugene Field,
Published by Charles Scribner’s sons.

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Don't Quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
    When the road you’re trudging is all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
    And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
    Rest - if you must - but don’t you quit.

Life is queer, with its twists and turns,
    As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
    When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don’t you give up, though the pace seems slow -
    You might succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than
    It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up
    When he might have captured the victor’s cup;
And he learned too late, when the night slipped sown,
    How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out -
    The silver tint of the clouds of doubt -
And you never can tell how close you are,
    It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit -
    It’s when things seem worst that you mustn’t quit.

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Are All The Children In?

I think oft-times, as the night draws nigh,
Of an old house on the hill,
Of a yard all wide and blossom-starred,
Where the children played at will.
And when the night at last came down,
Hushing the merry din,
Mother would look around and ask,
"Are all the children in?"

The years have come and gone since then,
And the old house on the hill
No longer echoes to childish shout,
And the spacious yard is still.
But I see it all, as the shadows creep
Where old memories merge and blend,
And I seem to hear her ask again,
"Are all the children in?"

I wonder if when the nightshades fall
On the last short earthly day,
When we say good-bye to the world outside
All tired with our childish play,
When we reach the shore of that other land
Where the folks so long have been;
Will mother ask, as she did of old,
"Are all the children in?"

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Go Down Death
A funeral Sermon
Written by James Weldon Johnson

Weep not, weep not,
She is not dead;
She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Heart-broken husband - weep no more;
Grief-stricken son - weep no more;
Left-lonesome daughter - weep no more;
She’s only just gone home.

Day before yesterday morning,
God was looking down from His great, high heaven,
Looking down on all His children,
And His eye fell on Sister Caroline,
Tossing on her bed of pain.
And God’s heart was touched with pity,
With the everlasting pity.

And God sat back on His throne,
And He commanded that tall, bright angel standing at    His right hand:
Call me Death!
And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice
That broke like a clap of thunder:
Call death! - Call Death!
And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven
Till it reached away back to the shadowy place,
Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.

And Death heard the summons,
And he leaped on his fastest horse,
Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.
Up the golden street Death galloped,
And the hoofs of his horse struck fire from the gold,
But they didn’t make no sound.
Up Death rose to the Great White Throne,
And waited for God’s command.

And God said: Go down, Death, go down,
Go down to Savannah, Georgia,
Down to Yamacraw,
And find Sister Caroline.
She’s borne the burden and heat of the day,
She’s labored long in my vineyard,
And she’s tired -
She’s weary -
Go down, Death, and bring her to Me.

And Death didn’t say a word,
But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,
And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless horse,
And out and down he rose,
Through heaven’s pearly gates,
Past suns and moons and stars;
On Death rose,
Leaving the lightening’s flash behind;
Straight on down he came.

While we were watching round her bed,
She turned her eyes and looked away,
She saw what we couldn’t see;
She saw Old Death.  She saw Old Death
Coming like a falling star.
But Death didn’t frighten Sister Caroline;
He looked to her like a welcome friend.
And she whispered to us: I’m coming home,
And she smiled and closed her eyes.

And Death took her up like a baby,
And she lay in his icy arms,
But she didn’t feel no chill.
And Death began to ride again -
Up beyond the evening star,
Out beyond the morning star,
Into the glittering light of glory,
On to the Great White Throne.
And there he laid Sister Caroline
On the loving breast of Jesus.

And Jesus took His own hand and wiped away her tears,
And He smoothed the furrows from her face,
And the angels sang a little song,
And Jesus rocked her in His arms,
And kept a-saying: Take your rest,
Take your rest, take your rest.

Weep not - weep not,
She is not dead;
She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.


From God’s Trombones by James Weldon Johnson.
Copyright 1927 by The Viking Press, Inc. 
1955 by Grace Nail Johnson. 
Reprinted by permission of The Viking Press, Inc., New York.
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I Shall Not Pass This Way Again

Through this toilsome world, alas!
Once and only once I pass;
If a kindness I may show,
If a good deed I may do
To a suffering fellow man,
Let me do it while I can.
No delay, for it is plain
I shall not pass this way again.

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Making Harbor

Sometime, at eve, when the tide is low,
When voices call in the water’s flow
And the night stoops down to embrace the day,
I shall slip my moorings, and sail away.

Through the purpling shadows that darkly trail
O’er the ebbing tide of the unknown sea,
I shall fare me away, with a dip of the sail
And a ripple of water to tell the tale
Of a lonely voyager sailing away
To the mystic isles, where at anchor lay
The craft of those who have sailed before
O’er the unknown sea to the unseen shore.

A few who have watched me sail away
Will miss my craft in the busy bay.
Some friend barques that were anchored near
And some loving souls whom my heart held dear
In silent sorrow will drop a tear!
But I shall have peacefully furled my sail
In moorings sheltered from storm and gale,
And I’ll greet the friends who have gone before,
O’er the unknown sea, to the unseen shore!

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Old Uncle Abram
Written by Dorothy Shuler Pitkin

Sweet old Aunt Bizzie was many months a-dying;
She dwindled down to a sparrow’s size.
Pain was a bed-mate, and smilingly she bore it,
A twist in her lips, but love in her eyes.

Old Uncle Abram was like a little lost child;
He’d never dreamed she’d be the first to go.
He’d shade his head like a man newly blinded;
Gropingly, achingly, knowing it was so.

One day he brought her a little yellow primrose;
He’d found it out by the old well-sweep.
Well I remember, her tortured hands still held it
When she drifted off in her last, long sleep.

We laid Aunt Bizzie underneath the linden
Close to the brook, where the tall grass moved;
We left here there, and hoped she’d be less lonely
Near to the things she’d always loved.

Never a day goes, never goes a morning
But old Uncle Abram climbs up the hill;
Talks to her there, and knows that she’s listening;
We all hear his voice when the wind grows still.

There’s something else there besides just the breezes
Warm o’er her grave like a bright spring day;
Love warms that hillside and wraps Uncle Abram,
Warmth that no winter wind can ever blow away.

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Should You Go First
Written by Albert Rowswell

Should you go first and I remain
To walk the road alone.
I’ll live in memory’s garden, dear,
With happy days we’ve known.
In spring I’ll wait for roses red
When fade the lilacs blue;
In early fall when brown leaves fall,
I’ll catch a glimpse of you.

Should you go first and I remain
For battles to be fought.
Each thing you’ve touched along the way
Will be a hallowed spot.
I’ll hear your voice, I’ll see your smile,
Though blindly I may grope,
The memory of your helping hand
Will buoy me with hope.

Should you go first and I remain
To finish with the scroll,
No lengthening shadows shall creep in
To make this life seem droll.
We’ve known so much of happiness,
We’ve had our cup of joy,
And memory is one gift of God
That death cannot destroy.

Should you go first and I remain
One thing I’d have to do,
Walk slowly down the path of death
For soon I’ll follow you.
I’ll want to know each step you take,
That I may walk the same.
For someday down that lonely road
You’ll hear me call your name.

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The Proclamation
Written by Jack Shuler

Out where the tempest sweeps the strand,
Out where the billows their fury beat,
Hard on a rock I took my stand
And carved a notice at my feet -
Nor torrent, nor time nor the wretched sea
Shall take one word from the words that be:
    Jesus shall come!

Dark is the night that drapes that shore,
Gloom throws a shroud across the sky;
Derelict shepherds, ‘dained of yore,
Scream from the rock at the passers by.
Quick is their flight as the veil is rent
To illumine these words of encouragement:
    Jesus shall come!

Well wrote the prophet of their blame:
‘Waterless clouds in the driven blast,
Turbulent waves foaming out their shame,
Wandering stars into darkness cast!"
Never a whit shall their words avail -
God has His promise!  Tho’ they assail
    Jesus shall come!

Sigh ye strong winds as ye read this stone,
Swell with this message that angels bear,
Haste with thy tidings form zone to zone,
Stir the cold dust that lies sleeping there,
Till heavenly portals with anthems ring
And all sainted dead in loud chorus sing,
    Jesus shall come!

Lift up your heads, O ye Christian band;
Soon He will shout in the eastern sky!
Sword turns to plowshare in His hand;
Righteousness dwells where His love is nigh!
Then shall we rest at His pierced feet,
Then shall all nations this phrase repeat:
    Jesus has come!

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The Secret
Written by Ralph S. Cushman

I met God in the morning
    When my day was at its best,
And his presence came like sunrise
    Like a glory in my breast.

All day long the Presence lingered,
    All day long he stayed with me,
And we sailed in perfect calmness
    O’er a very troubled sea.

Other ships were blown and battered,
    Other ships were sore distressed,
But the winds that seemed to drive them
    Brought to us a peace and rest.

Then I thought of other mornings,
    With a keen remorse of mind,
When I too had loosed the moorings,
    With the Presence left behind.

So I think I know the secret,
    Learned from many a troubled way:
You must seek him in the morning
    If you want him through the day!


>From Spiritual Hilltops by Ralph S. Cushman.
Copyright 1932 by Ralph S. Cushman. 
Be permission of Abindgon Press.

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Not Growing Old

They say that I am growing old,
I’ve heard them tell it times untold
In language plain and bold -
But I’m not growing old.
This frail old shell in which I dwell
Is growing old, I know full well,
But I’m not growing old!

What if my hair is turning gray?
Gray hair is honorable, they say.
What if my eyesight’s growing dim?
I still can see to follow Him
Who sacrificed His life for me
There on the Cross at Calvary!
What should I care if Time’s old plow
Has dug its furrows in my brow?
Another house, not made with hand,
Awaits me in the Glory Land.

My hearing may not be as keen
As in the past it might have been,
Still I can hear my Saviour say,
"Come, faltering child, this is the way!"
The outward man, do what I can
To lengthen out this life’s short span,
Shall perish and return to dust,
As everything in nature must.

But the inward man, the Scriptures say,
Is growing stronger every day!
Then how can I be growing old?
I’m safe within my Saviour’s fold.
E’er long my soul shall fly away
And leave this tenement of clay!
This robe of flesh I’ll drop and rise
To seize the everlasting prize!
I’ll meet you on the streets of gold
And prove that I’m not growing old!

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Grandma Bea
Written by Mallory Shook

My grandma was a wonderful person
Who loved the Lord so much.
Whenever I felt discouraged,
She always had her touch.

She healed broken hearts each day
Knew exactly what to say,
And if you’d ever need something,
You could always count on her to pray.

Of course, she went through heard times,
Had a trial or two,
But all through those tough moments,
Herself came last and first came you.

Now she’s up in heaven,
Singing and rejoicing with God.
I’ve even gotten jealous.
"How come He gets to hold her, and I do not?"

As a child I wanted to kiss her,
As I grew I wanted to hold her.
Now, as a teenager, all I want,
Is to be exactly like her.

I know I’ll see her again someday,
But it’s still so hard to handle.
So please, for her, as a symbol of love,
Light maybe just one candle.

Grandma, if you can hear me,
We miss you so very much.
And still whenever I feel discouraged,
I’ll be waiting for your touch.

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In Memory of Robert Lee Shook
Written by Phil Shuler after a revival meeting in 
Colorado Springs in 1973.
Robert was 8 yrs. of age at the time of his death.  
He was truly a unique person.

Hey, little guy; I envy you, Up there with Christ, beyond the blue,
And with your little brother, too---It must be fun!

Remembering how you loved "God’s Men,"
 I bet you’ve talked to Paul and them
About their battles here with sin, And how they won.

And knowing, too, your love for song, 
It must have been a thrill, my son,
To hear King David sing along With each harp strum!

Evangelists had been your joy, 
Well, you’re among them now, my boy!
Bill Sunday, Springer, Sam and Roy...Greet every one!

Don’t fret about those left behind, 
We’ll miss you, son, but God is kind.
We know right now you’re feeling fine! 
You’re pain is done.

And give or take a few more years, 
We all shall pass this veil of tears
To be with those we loved so dear, And missing none!

The Shooks will sing a new song then, 
With every voice a perfect blend!
And we’ll be proud when you chime in, And say, "Well done!"

So rest awhile, it won’t be long. 
We’ll meet you in that glorious throng
And to the Lord we’ll all belong....’Til then, my son.
                   

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Love Still Lives Here
Written by Bea Shook

I stood beside her bed
Her toys were strewn around,
Her lashes touched her tiny cheek
Her sleep was, oh, so sound.
I laid her doll beside here,
As I said a little prayer,
"Thank you Lord, for my home."
His love seemed everywhere.

I stood beside her bed
Perfume was in the air.
I touched her pretty sleeping face
To move a lock of hair.
Oh where, I thought, does fly the time
Seems only yesterday,
She sat and rocked her baby doll
So very hard at play.
And then I felt His presence
As He hovered oh so near.
And then I said "Oh thank you, Lord,
Your love, it still lives here."

I stood beside her bed again,
No toys were strew around,
But instead there lay upon her bed
A veil and a wedding gown.
She’ll never be a child again,
To laugh and run and play.
But her love will always linger here,
Time won’t take that away.
"Oh, Lord, how much I thank You
For my family and my home,
Your love, it always lives here,
No matter where we roam."

I stood beside her bed
The toys were strewn around,
Her lashes touched her tiny face,
Her sleep was oh, so, sound.
I laid her doll beside her,
As I said a little prayer,
"Thank You, Lord for this home,
Her eyes closed fast in sleep,
Was our daughter’s precious baby,
Our grandchild, oh, so sweet.
"Yes, Lord, Your love, it still lives here."

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My Mother, A Cameo
Written by Bea Shook

"C" is for the sweet caress
    Of her precious loving hands
    As she loved and cared for all of us
    And met all our demands.

"A" is for the assurance
    That she was always near
    To comfort or encourage us
    And wipe away each tear.

"M" is for the mercy shown
    Each and every day
    Not just for us, her family,
    But for others along the way.

"E" is for those seeing eyes
    with wisdom beyond compare
    To see the needs of others
    With a concern and love so rare.

"O" is for the obedience
    Unto her precious Lord
    To pray and seek His face each day
    And continue in His Word.

    Oh, this wondrous Cameo
    This one who stands alone
    This Cameo, my Mother
    A gem carved in stone.

My mother is like a cameo, a gem cared in stone.  
Layer upon layer of
precious stone takes form, touched by the 
Master’s gifted hand, revealing its
hidden and enduring beauty – 
so fragile, so inspirit, so beautiful.

Look upon the layers of your mother’s heart, 
and tell me what the Master
reveals to you.  Experience the joy of forgiveness 
even when her heart is
broken by disappointment.  Hear her ready 
praise for the things you do that
make her proud.

She crowns me with loving kindness and mercy; 
she is slow to anger and
gracious.  She renews my youth.  
She is the secret of my strength.  She has
taught me to do good.  Her heart is never envious.  
I may be faint at times,
and I often grow weary, but she renews 
my strength because she has taught me
to commit my ways unto the Lord.  
All things work together for good.  Mother is a pillar 
of assurance, nothing can separate me from her love.  
Hours of prayer and sacrifice are part of her 
loving heart.  She rejoices when I
rejoice.  She weeps when I weep and she 
has taught me comfort when I am
afflicted, she stands by me because that is what mothers do.  
She adds unity to the family with patience and long suffering.  
In her I find an enduring faith, everlasting love and hope when others have no hope.

She has trained up her children in the way 
that they should go.  Strength and
honor are the layers of her heart.  Praise, the 
rewards for her work.  Her
candle burns all through my night.

Only a skilled craftsman can create a Cameo, 
but only God can create a mother.

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Number One To Me

"Written with love to my Honey Bea"
Dillon Shook

There’s nothing that I’d rather do than spend my life with you.
Hey, Bea, Its been forty eight years on our honeymoon.
It’s been sweet lovin’ you, and honey it’s true,
You’ll always be my number one, and my horse is number two.

When the sun comes up, it’s a brand new day we’ll sing a happy tune,
Ridin’ down those happy trails to a home in heaven blue.
I’ll ne’er forget the day you said, "Oh, yes, I love you too."
You’ll always be my number one, and my horse is number
    two.

There’s nothing that I’d rather do than spend my life with you.