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Men say that we are fools to give ourselves for God and good.
But I say we are fools if we do not.
Fools? Not we, but we have caught a vision of eternity,
And all its implications.

Men’s souls are passing to the halls of hell and I say we do well
To rescue them from their eternal plight,
And set their course aright, e’re death devours them
And in the coming night they pass away.

We do not well to lie on beds of ease
When men are crying, sighing, dying and we have the answer to their needs
Rise up oh men of God, and give yourselves to this great quest
Of winning men from hell, and more—of giving them God’s best.

If we can’t go we must fling wide the door
And let our sons and daughters bear the news to every far-off shore,
We must release them from the vision of our eyes,
Because our hearts have seen the vision of a higher prize
Of God’s great news, proclaimed to heathen lands.

Men call us fools because they do not understand
That God calls men to bear His news to every far-off land.
Fools? Not we! We be wise and give ourselves that men might know the glories of our God
That they in turn might give themselves and share the prize—with others.

Copyright 1970 Donald Stuckless

I often wondered why it seemed,
Some Christians were more than just redeemed,
And where they got their source of power,
To stand up straight in the trying hour.

I searched and read Acts one and eight,
And there I saw the Bible state
That power is given by the Holy Ghost,
To witness for Christ to the uttermost.

I sought in prayer and asked the Lord,
To come to my aid and to honor His Word,
To grant my desire for power within,
And for freedom complete from the willful sin.

God did his part as I gave Him my will,
And I joyed in my heart at the Spirit’s thrill.
And His Spirit gave utterance in another tongue,
Praise be to God for the victory won.

E’er since that day when I met Him so,
I’ve had His power in my life you know.
Power for victory, power to win,
Power with God, over death, hell and sin.

Copyright Donald Stuckless 1988

We have heard the cold waves pounding on the shore with all their might,
We have seen the gray tides ebbing in the cool morning light.
We have seen the boats departing with their sails all frilled and white,
And have seen them heavily laden, returning in the night.

We have heard the cold wind howling, screeching, struggling at the door,
We have felt its icy fingers reaching down the barren shore,
W have heard the blizzard shrieking, surging through the cold dark night,
And heard the groan of timbers in the turmoil of their plight.

We have seen the flood of waters where the snow fed rivers run,
We have seen the bay at sunset, sparkling in the sun,
We have heard the drip of water in its steadiness undone,
Like the sounding in the silence when the roof begins to run.

We have seen the caribou dashing, dodging, bobbing out of sight,
We have heard the sound of hoof-beats as he ran with all his might,
Heard the cracking of a rifle, heard the bullet whizzing past,
Saw the buck limp and stagger, and then tumble to the grass.

We have seen the nets being mended in the silent summer night,
We have watched the boats put out at the first sign of light,
We have smelled the scent of cod, drying in the sun,
And have watched the green world changing when autumn has begun.

We have heard the wild geese honking as they journeyed in the sky
We have felt the wind upon us, seen the brown leaves floating by.
And we look all around us, and see God’s mighty hand,
Then we know why this fair island, was named NEWFOUNDLAND.

Copyright, Donald Stuckless 1970

Oh take me back to an age gone by
Where the whistle moaned and smoke filled the sky.
With an iron horse on an iron beam
Oh take me back to the age of steam.

With the smell of soft coal in the air
And cinders and soot flying everywhere.
The age in the yard when nothing was clean
Oh take me back to the age of steam.

The iron horse again I’d like to see
With that phantom inside, longing to be free.
To see him thunder in on a quiet scene
Oh take me back to the age of steam.

I’ve heard him groaning in the yard
When pulling the load was going hard.
I’ve heard the iron horse stamp his feet
Yet over the load he was master complete.

I’ve heard his whistle in the early morn’
As he thundered along through fields of corn.
I’ve seen him at the coal chute feed
And drink from the tower with amazing speed.

Oh take me where I’ll never hear
The diesel foghorn whistle blare.
Take me where there’s no kerosene.
Oh take me back to the age of steam.

But this is an era that’s passed me by.
I no longer see the smoke swirled sky.
Don’t feel his breath except in my dream.
Oh take me back to the age of steam.

“Come back!” I cry, but alas it’s for naught.
In a struggle with progress he has been caught.
And I say even though it’s a wishful scheme
Oh take me back to the age of steam.


Copyright 1970 Donald F. Stuckless

The way of the cross is the way for each heart,
It’s an altar, this cross on a hill.
And the way of the cross we are all asked to tread,
He beckons us come there still.

The road to heaven can be rugged and rough
Many times to the valley descend.
But through the dark night and the pitfalls of life
You’ll walk hand in hand with your friend.

When nightfall comes and shadows creep o’er
And the twilight of life seems to dim
Then the way of the cross that seemed so rough before,
Is a highway leading to Him.

There’s no turning back when the sand has run out
And the glass of your life’s standing still
You’ll be glad that you’re bound for your heavenly home
And you went by the cross on the hill.

And then you’ll pass over the river of time
Where days will be numbered no more.
You’ll never look back to this pilgrimage here
You’ll be safe on that heavenly shore.

And on through the years of eternity’s bliss
Through the eons of ages you’ll still
Be glad that one day you followed the Lord
And went by the cross on the hill.

Copyright: Donald Stuckless 1975