One Sows, Another Waters...
The man of God had made his plans.
He’d crossed the rolling blue.
His tent was raised.
His posters out.
And all the churches knew,
That he was blessed with seed-faith power
And healing for the weak.
And now Australia was his goal,
A soul-harvest to seek.
But troubled times had hit the isle,
As Labour made demands.
Their pickets set.
Their tempers raised.
And now perhaps their plans
Would take them “to the Yank’s church-show”,
White-collars there to find.
A ruffian bunch all dressed in blue,
With foul-play on their mind.
Now those in suits and fancy hats
Already held their place.
Was warming up
To play “Amazing Grace”.
And backstage still, the man of God
Was praying with his crew.
(The audience were getting loud.
Was this what Aussies do?)
Then bursting in upon the prayer,
A helper spoke with fear;
That groups of men,
Truckloads of them,
Were standing in the rear.
And searching ‘round for business folk
Who set their work and wage.
What now to do? Just call things off?
The preacher took the stage.
The big tent was so quiet
You could hear a small pin fall.
The man of God
To visitors, one and all.
The singers, leafing for the hymn,
To set a joyful mood.
But then, the crash, the curse, the crush;
The platform rushed and “booed”.
The place of praise and promise
Became a bedlam-den.
As women screamed,
And chairs were smashed,
And men stood up to men.
Then all around the seed-faith man
They formed a loyal guard,
Which rushed him out the canvas flaps,
And drove him from the yard.
Three nights they tried to quell the tide
Of devilry and hate.
That doubt might see
That mischief might abate.
While outside, tabloids mocked the work
And heckled healing grace.
Were love and light and being right
Ill-suited to this place?
The plane trip home, a troubled one,
As souls were searched and pained.
Had they been wrong?
And missed God’s will?
Had nothing good been gained?
But back on Aussie soil, a move
Of God’s own grace was stirring.
As blue and white each saw their wrongs,
Conviction was occurring.
A year would pass before a man
Of slightly different sort,
Would fly again
And gain a good report.
As thousands flocked to Gospel rest,
Their stress and strife all through.
The telegram brought Billy’s news:
“Dear Oral, our thanks to you!”