This is a poem I discovered as a missionary in Rancho Cucamonga, California. I was in a Spanish Branch that crossed stake lines including the city of Rancho and Upland. We had a branch conference Sunday where the Stake President came and spoke. He told us that if we had faith and continue to hold our family hold evenings and invite friends to church within a year that little branch would grow into a ward. The President spoke very good Spanish as he had been a mission president in Argentina. He was beloved by the Spanish Branch and the Tongan Wards in his stake. He powerfully charged the young men in his stake to go on missions and increased the number of missionaries serving from his stake nearly 10 fold. He was energetic and powerful.
The day after our conference he awoke with trouble breathing and was taken to the hospital. They pronounced him dead. For two years he had battled a particular strain of pneumonia which had finally and suddenly taken his life. We were given permission to attend the funeral which was an enormous affair. I’ll never forget the viewing where the large Tongan choir sat in the middle of the Stake Center and sang hymns for hours as the crowds of people walked around the Stake Center. This poem was on the back of the funeral program, my understanding is that he used it on his mission in Argentina. Unable to find a version online I went back through 5 years of journals and discovered the program. This poem reflects very well the way I feel about my Christian Service, as a missionary and still today.
The young man walked down the city street.
In a strange land, with his own home far away.
And his newness clashed with the echoing beat
Of horse carts and cobbled streets.
And they say that he preached a better world
To those who loved their own,
And he prayed, “Oh God.”
i would that my good be known…
And no one understood…
The young man stopped in the pitted road,
His manner not shiny now, and gazed at humble folk.
And vaguely sensed the meaning of eternal days.
And preached. “Come follow me that you might have rest”
And prayed, “Oh God, help me to do my best.”
And few men understood…
The young man trudged down the country lane.
No stranger now, still searching those paths to roam.
But somehow, unashamed a little older now became,
And deep within his heart he sang, “This place is home.”
And he preached the brotherhood of man and peace and charity.
And prayed, “Oh Lord that I might be worthy of such as these…
In some far eternity.
And lo, he understood…
-Loren C. Pace
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