THANKSGIVING

An ode of appreciation written by Pastor Charles H.

Harthern in the Municipal Hospital February 4, 1967

* * *

It was 10:30 P.M. on a Friday night,

When a preacher named Harthern looked a pitiful sight; He was propped up in bed, with shortness of breath,

Gasping with pain—was this a warning of death? His wife, with discretion called "Dr. Joe" Joe”

 Who in moments was there saying — “To hospital go!” With Alice’ Jean Martin and Bobby — with car

I was rushed into hospital ‘— glad it wasn’t too far —The orderly lifted me into the chair

“Thank you Willie, I’m glad you were there”. That’s all I remembered, things began to go dork,

When the ‘candle sniffs out, it’s reality stark!

With oxygen tent working . . . Dr. Joe by my side ‘. .

Still fighting for breath “Lord help me.” I cried,    .‘ Some, days have gone by, the crisis has passed,

I’m able to lie down and breathe freely at last; What words can I find, as I pen these few lines,

For a wonderful hospital and Staff . . . always kind —Room filled with flowers expressions of love;

Numerous cards with blessings from here and above. With ozone so pure from Mexico Bay.

Scented with pines, firs, and flowers, by night and by day Of course’ the Mill belches—it would be stagnation without it,

As men work -together to keep poverty The churches, the people, all happy and free,

As “The Star” appears weekly for all eyes to see. The beach cottage allures for life’s setting sun,

But the call from England recurs

To “finish the work which you have begun.”

* * *

I SINCERELY ASK FOR YOUR PRAYERS

—Charles H. Harthern