That farmer left a harvest, a home and eighty acres,
The faith an' love for growin' things in his young son's heart.
An' that teacher left her wisdom in the minds of lots of children:
Did her best to give 'em all a better start.
An' that preacher whispered: "Can't you see the Promised Land?"
As he laid his blood-stained bible in that hooker's hand.
--
That's the story that our preacher told last Sunday.
As he held that blood-stained bible up,
For all of us to see.
He said: "Bless the farmer, and the teacher, an' the preacher;
"Who gave this Bible to my mamma,
"Who read it to me."
At some stage all of us will leave this world just as we came into it: with nothing. We don't get to take our bank balance, titles, awards, degrees, or popularity with us. What legacy will we leave behind? Will our memory lead others to find eternal life for themselves? Will the world be a better place for us having lived in it?
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