Were they his sons? I am too;
Did any love him? I do too;
Do any miss him? Did any cry?
Do any desire to see him more than I?
For by the Words of an uneducated prophet of the Lord:
I've escaped many fierce trials untold;
I was saved, more than once, from a machette wielding maniac,
And many - a - ferocious demonic attack.
I've disputed with the lofty and the highly learned,
Watching them remain perplexed and shamefully confounded;
I've been delivered from the bitterness of African superstitions,
With the Spoken Word for my only ammunition.
I have eaten to the full when I thought I'd never eat again;
I've been delivered from sicknesses, sorrows and pain;
I've watched backstabbers fall into their own pits,
Those who war against me, get weary and then quit.
I've found the Word I can trust, without worry or fear,
That a hypocritical curse will linger in my ear:
For many equivocally curse the sheep of their own folds,
Dampening the faith of the feeble, encouraging their love to wax cold.
Man is always seeking to make the whittiest inventions,
All his amazing theories and findings yearly need edition;
Thy Message to this age, O Lord, will always be the same,
Thanks for Thy faithful servant, William Branham was his name.