His Hands

Cymbals clang and drums beat loud,

Drums that chant of death.

Terror's mighty horsemen ride

With their flaming breath.

On the far Korean shore

Where our sons are dying,

Little children, scarred and thin,

In their need are crying.

Jesus bids us be His hands,

Feed His sheep in war-torn lands.

The Archer

First in Archer Miniature Contest