Quaint Rhymes for the Battlefield - A Selection of Poems
by C. T. Studd (1860-1931)

C. T. Studd
The Bible Christian's Delight
Jesus Only Without Excuse
"Chutney" God's D. D.


The Bible

What could we do without the Book
  That God gave us to read?
No more than any farmer
  Who hadn't any seed!

No other tells us of our Lord,
  The God of grace and love,
Who made the whole creation,
  This world and those above.

What could we do were we without
  The Gospels or the Acts?
No more than could a barrister
  Who didn't know his facts!

Were we without the letters of
  John, Peter, James and Paul,
We'd be like some poor cricketer
  Without a bat or ball.

If Genesis is humbug,
  We must cast into the flames
The Gospels, Acts and Hebrews,
  Galatians, Romans, James.

If we should try to live our lives
  Without the Book of Psalms,
Our souls would lack the music
  Which comforts, cheers and charms.

We couldn't know that God will be
  The Judge of all mankind,
By the mere dictates of Reason,
  Or the workings of the mind.

We shouldn't know God gave His Son,
  To agonize and die,
To save and teach us sinful men
  To trust Him utterly.

We shouldn't know Christ rose again—
  The proof He was the Lord—
And then ascended up above
  To execute His Word.

We ne'er had deemed He'd be the Friend
  Of publicans and sinners,
Of prodigals and harlots, not
  Of hypocrites nor trimmers.

That ne'er would He to any child
  Deny a Saviour's blessing,
And ne'er would turn a soul away,
  Who came his sins confessing.

That He Who healed the sick, the lame,
  The blind, the deaf, the dumb,
And raised the dead, by touch or word,
  Would beg us all to come

To Him, that we might be forgiven
  And made the heirs of God,
Divorced from fear of death and hell,
  Warriors of the Lord.

We ne'er had dreamed Salvation is
  A gift, and not a wage,
To be received just as you are,
  Without the sacred page.

The Bible is a gallery
  Of pictures full of life,
A cinematographic show
  Of real historic strife.

It warns against temptations
  And Satan's savoury messes;
It paints the devil's portrait
  In all his fancy dresses.

It's like a cordite rifle
  With a telescopic sight,
Preventing those of single eye
  From missing, day or night.

It is of heaven's narrow way
  The ordnance survey map,
Revealing hell's paved broadway
  And every gin and trap.

It gives the words of prophets,
  Who courageously denounced
The sins of priests, and princes, and
  The Judgment day announced.

It castigates the evil, and
  It never screens the good;
It declares that every mortal needs
  The Saviour's cleansing blood.

'Tis a history of the godly,
  A hymn book for the saint,
A comfort to the dying,
  A cordial to the faint.

It prophesies the Coming
  Of the Saviour in His might,
To judge the world's inhabitants,
  And darkness turn to light.

Be sure, in their originals,
  Each word came straight from God;
"Yea! every jot and tittle's true,"
  Said Jesus Christ the Lord.

Would you be brave and noble?
  Read it every day,
Not as a duty merely,
  Nor in a slipshod way.

Divorce yourself from humbug,
  And cant and lollipops;
Don't live on milk and water,
  Nor sentimental slops.

Don't be like Jackie Horner,
  Who when he got a pie,
Picked out a plum or two, and said
  "See what a boy am I!"

It's God's own patent medicine,
  Take it as it stands;
Treat it as His aide-de-camp,
  Bringing Christ's commands.

Mind! you must obey it,
  Otherwise you'll be
Branded, as a hypocrite,
  Through eternity.

Read it in the morning,
  Meditate and pray,
Trust the Lord to keep you
  "Straight" throughout the day.
  —C. T. Studd (1860-1931)


Jesus Only

I'm going to live for Jesus,
  And fling the world away,
I'm going to give to Jesus
  My life and all to-day.

I've done it, Hallelujah!
   And now I pray the prayer
That I may follow "Jesus
  Only," everywhere.

I'm such a great big sinner,
  And still a bigger fool;
I must keep close to Jesus
  And never leave His school.

My heart's so full of rapture,
  I know not how to live;
For the joy of being Jesu's
  I wish I'd more to give.

I think I'll copy Levi,
  Who gave a dinner once,
To give a chance to Jesus
  To save another dunce.

Oh, won't it be just "ripping"
  To never leave His side,
To walk and talk with Jesus,
  And all in Him confide?

There is no Friend like Jesus,
  So loving, strong and true,
If I had not His friendship
  I don't know what I'd do.

No soul in all creation
  Can ever take His place,
But I love all others better,
  Since I have seen His face.

Oh! the joy of knowing Jesus,
  It takes all care away;
I would so love for Jesus
  To fling my life away.

And yet I'd sooner serve Him
  On earth, and suffer loss,
Than have a throne in Heaven,
  For there, there's not a cross.

I love to fight for Jesus
  And every risk to run,
If there was naught of danger
  It wouldn't be half the fun.

Such as neglect Christ's ord'nance
  To fight in lands afar,
Know not the joy of Jesus
  Like those who go to war.

I loved Christ's ordination,
  Its grand simplicity;
He asked no abstruse questions,
  But only "Lov'st thou Me?"

He asked that once of Peter,
  Who'd just denied Him thrice;
Then gave him his commission
  To preach His sacrifice.

The Gospel of Christ's salvation
  Is, only His blood can atone;
The secret of walking on water
  Is to look to Christ alone.

The secret of power is simple,
  I must obey God, not man;
It's naught but incredible folly
  To adopt any other plan.

Christ commissioned His Spirit
  To be Captain of His host;
 I need no other guidance
  Than that of the Holy Ghost.

He'll brook no interference;
  God is a jealous God;
Christ woo'd and won, and bought me,
  He only is my Lord.

I'll walk in His blest freedom,
  And follow Him everywhere;
 I'll trust His word and presence
  And fight without a fear.

Some Christians call me foolish,
  The world declares I'm "fey;"
I'll wait a little longer
  To see what Christ will say.

"He hadn't any talents,
  His speech perhaps was odd;
But he did what I commanded,
  He rendered all to God."

I'd like to hear Him say that,
  Tho' there's little chance of such;
But I don't care a blow for the mud folks throw,
  'Cause I'm not like a parson in church.

Some stay at home with good reason
  And some without a cause;
But that coward's the worst, who stabs in the back
  The man who's gone to the wars.

But Christ was kissed in the garden
  By the man who had been His friend;
So some I presume will do the same
  Till this world's come to an end.

There are some who when told to go
  By the great Physician Himself,
Run off to a fallible medical man
  Who puts them on the shelf.

As tho' they know better than He!
  Or their words were of greater worth!
They forget that the place where Jesus is
  Is the safest spot on earth.

Some want to live too long,
  Tho' one cannot die too soon;
A day with the Son is worth millions more
  Than a million on earth or moon.

For Jesus is my life,
  And death my greatest gain;
Heaven means joy without alloy,
  On earth we must have pain.

If we really did believe
  The words that Jesus said,
We'd have no fear for the future,
  Nor for our daily bread.

Who knows Christ as his Master
  Is such a splendid fool;
He leaves an earthly Paradise
  And "runs away" to school!

I know very little myself,
  But Jesus knows everything;
So merry of soul I laugh and sing
  Underneath His wing.

Oh! it's good to belong to Jesus,
  It's the only life to live;
It's glorious fun, it's heaven begun,
  When you've got no more to give.

Away with hesitation!
  Man! take the plunge, and try!
Give heart and all to Jesus!
  Then take your wings and fly!

Fly with Christ's salvation
  To some dark heathen land;
No cause for trepidation,
  Jesus will hold your hand.


Come forth, ye men of Britain,
  In brave Crusader bands;
Up! let us take possession
  Of our Saviour's promised lands.
  —C. T. Studd (1860-1931)



I want to be like Jesus,
  Who left His throne on high
For hell-deserving sinners
  To live, and work, and die.

Forsaking all His glory,
   His power He laid aside,
His entrée—lo! a manger!
  His exit—crucified!

We human fools rejected,
  And left to stand alone,
The only real Victor
  This world has ever known.

By men despised, rejected;
  By devils deified;
By friends denied, forsaken;
  By angels glorified.

I'll live and die for Jesus,
  Battling for the right,
Proclaiming Christ's salvation
  To sinners left and right.

I will not be a mannikin!
  To live in ease at home,
I'll be a Christian warrior!
  Who loves with Christ to roam.

I will not be a skulker!
  Those words ring in my ear,
"Shall your brethren go to war?
  And ye? shall ye sit here?"

I'd sooner be a sceptic,
  Who'd ne'er confessed Christ's Name,
Than make a great confession,
  But fear to play the game.

If I to others preached and taught
  That consecration's right,
I wouldn't stop in Britain,
  To merely talk and write.

I wouldn't say to others "Go,
  "The wolf needs your attentions;
Myself I'll tickle the pretty lambs
  Who frequent our Conventions."

I wouldn't like to criticize
  The fighters in the ring,
Unless I had the pluck to cut
  Dame Europe's apron string.

I wouldn't be a talker,
  With his pretty nouns and verbs,
His nicely polished phrases,
  And alliterated words.

Such things may please old women,
  And the maids of either sex;
They nauseate a soldier,
  They irritate and vex.

For the soldier's heart is simple,
  And true, and brave, and strong;
Not quite the man to tickle
  With a sentimental song.

The offerings of a soldier
  Are wrought of golden deeds,
He cultivates no flowers,
  He reckons words as weeds.

His words are few and simple,
  And giv'n with such a snap
As makes you think of lightning,
  And its after thunder-clap.

For his commands are rugged,
  And terse, and loud, and hoarse,
But they set the men in motion,
  Artillery, foot and horse.

For his men are dead sure certain
  That when they're sent to the front
Their Chief won't stay in Britain,
  Shunning the battle's brunt.

For their Captain's "Go" means "Come,"
   And he fights at the head of his men,
And not all the pleasures or wealth of the world,
  Could tempt him to leave them then.

Thus Jesus leads the way,
  As well as brings up the rear,
And He's always there in the thick of the fight,
  To save, and help, and cheer.

I'm going to stake my all for Christ
  Like brave Epaphroditus,
Who gambled with his life for Paul,
  The prince of Christian fighters.

For how can man live better
  Than gambling for the Christ,
Who lived and died for sinners,
  And heaven sacrificed?

So I'll live and die for Jesus,
  Battling for the right;
Proclaiming Christ's salvation
  To sinners day and night.
  —C. T. Studd (1860-1931)


Christian's Delight On Earth and In Heaven

Now Christ's command is simple,
  And meant to be obeyed,
"Go ye and preach My Gospel
  In every land," He said.

Christ hadn't any favourites;
  He lived and died for all!
So all should know the Message,
  And hear His gracious call.

So I'll go and face the music
  In some dark far off land,
Where no one's ever been before
  For Christ to make a stand.

I'll leave the ninety-nine behind,
  And seek the wandering sheep,
To bring it back to Jesus Christ,
  And lay it at His feet.

The way may not be easy,
  The grub not over good,
The climate may be treacherous,
  The men a devil's brood.

But what of that? My Jesus
  Suffered torture and the cross
For me the chief of sinners,
  Lest I should suffer loss.

It may mean death or poverty,
  Or grief—or pain—or shame,
But what of that? The martyrs lived
  And suffered just the same.

I wouldn't want to live at all
  Unless it was to fight
For Jesus Christ and sinful men,
  Morning, noon and night.

And in some fierce, hot battle,
  Fighting I'd love to die,
Watching for Jesus' coming,
  To carry me home on high.

But when I walk the golden street.
  I'll blush a scarlet red,
And hide my face in shame until
  The crown drops off my head.

The crown that Jesus won and gave
  To His unworthy son,
Who'd done so little, and badly, too,
  Even the things he'd done.

And if it won't drop off I'll cast
  My crown at Jesus' feet,
Then run and seek the lowest place
  Upon the lowest seat.

And then I think I'll weep and weep
  Till Jesus dries my eyes,
As I realize at last the depth
  Of His great sacrifice.

And that I can't go back to earth,
  And have another try
To serve Him better than before,
  To suffer and to die.

And then I'll shout with rapture
  With all the heavenly host,
"Glory to God, the Father,
  The Son and Holy Ghost."

And then the joys of meeting
  The loved ones gone before,
And watching for the others
  To enter at the door!

My word! what introductions
  To all God's family,
And leave to ask them questions
  With impunity.

I'll want to hear from Jonah
  Of his time inside the fish,
And how John Baptist laughed to see
  His head upon the dish.

How Daniel felt descending
  Into the lion's den;
What Gideon thought when marching out
  With but three hundred men.

What Nebby thought about the three
  Who nearly caught a cold,
When thrown into the fire because
  They wouldn't worship gold.

And what they felt like when they found
  That they had merely come
To have a walk with Jesus,
  Who Had just arrived from Home.

We understand that Nebby got
  Converted on the spot,
And right away for infidels
  Began to make it hot.

We need a few like Shadrach, Meshach,
  And Abednego
To pay a little visit now
  To Christendom, I trow.

They'd say we were behind the times,
  And just as much demented,
As poor old Uncle Nebby was
  Before he had repented.

The image then was on the plain,
  But now it's come to town,
And has as many votaries
  To worship and bow down.

Elijah's thoughts on Carmel
  When he faced the mighty throng-
My! how he chaffed the Baalites,
  Laughing loud and long.

And what the Apostles felt and thought,
  And what the women said,
When first they gazed on Jesus Christ
  Risen, from the dead.

The comical grimaces of
  Philippi's magistrates,
When they had to beg Paul's pardon
  And escort him to the gates.

The thoughts of Simon Peter
  When he felt the chains drop off;
And the gates began to open
  Like a lion going to cough.

And why poor Rhoda's mistress thought
  She'd gone stark, staring mad,
Because she said that Peter stood
  Outside the door. Too bad!

The faces of the Sadducees,
  When the fishermen declared
In future they'd obey the Lord,
  Not men! They must have stared.

For well they knew that Peter
  Had so late denied the Lord,
In mortal fear of women, too,
  Though neither had a sword.

It must have been as though they saw
  A Baa-lamb on its legs;
Deploring their pernicious taste
  For eating addled eggs.

Their nonplussed looks, when Peter told
  The godless Roman soldiers,
"Kindly crucify me, with
  My head below my shoulders."

And when the oil began to boil,
  The aspect of the crowd,
As John within began to sing,
  And thank the Lord aloud.

In heaven no amusement?
  I venture to declare
There's never been such fun on earth
  As we shall have up there.

The joy will be without alloy
  Within our home above,
A perfect Father's family
  And every soul in love.

Enthusiastic service for
  A perfect Master too,
And every servant singing,
  "I want more work to do."

All hearts will glow with rapture,
  As we gaze on Jesus' face,
While we sing the wondrous story,
  Of the Father's matchless grace.
  —C. T. Studd (1860-1931)


Without Excuse

Our Saviour has given commandment
  To such as believe, in their hearts,
To publish the news of Salvation
  On earth, to its uttermost parts.

The doors of the world lie wide open;
  Its lands have been duly explored;
The sorrows and needs of the heathen
  Can only be met by the Lord.

Christians were never so numerous,
  Never so wealthy and wise,
Never made bigger professions,
  Then why don't we race for the prize?

Have we waxed fat like Jeshurun?
  Are our livers or heads over large?
Have we become paralytic?
  Or deaf to Christ's summons to charge?

When has the job been so easy?
  Peace is enthroned on the earth;
Travel was never so simple;
  Of "Dreadnoughts" alone there's a dearth.

How shall we look when our Saviour
  Returns in His glory from heaven,
And finds we've refused or neglected
  E'en one tribe with salvation to leaven?

If George the Fifth's soldiers or sailors
  Were ordered the world to subdue,
They'd hasten abroad in dead earnest
  And pluckily dare and do.

Then why should the Soldiers of Jesus
  Delay to obey His command?
Come along! Let us tackle the business,
  We only need faith and sand.
[Note: "sand" is "courage" in the United States]

Come! Let's stop our vain talk of traditions,
  Which nullify God's Holy Word,
And dump all our Christless snobbery
  In hell, and then hurry abroad.

Let us cease to do our own pleasure,
  Stop hoarding and living at ease;
Let us fight or die to deliver
  The folk in the lands overseas.

Let's abolish our tame stonewalling,
  And play for a win not a draw;
We must go in for hurricane hitting,
  Or we'll lose as we've lost before.

For Christ was a resolute hitter,
  And so were Stephen and Paul;
They so warmed the devil's fingers
  That he scarce could hold the ball.

They didn't play selfish in those good days,
  They played for their side instead;
And they ran such really impossible runs
  That the devil quite lost his head.

When a man got out he ran, not walked,
  And the man going in ran too;
"What, stop the match for tea!" they cried;
  "Bah! cock-a-doodle-doo."

They didn't wear pads or gloves those days,
  You just couldn't make them afraid;
And they never stopped to look at the clock
  Till the winning hit was made.

Now if we played the game like that,
  Do you think we shouldn't win?
Of course we should, and, that being so,
  Anything else is sin.

Christ to be sure would go with us;
  Christ would see us through;
Christ wouldn't let us falter
  Till there's nothing more to do.

So let's settle now and once for all,
  To finish our job or die;
We can evangelize the world
  If we're men enough to try.
  —C. T. Studd (1860-1931)


God's D. D.

Old Daniel was a Dreadnought!
  If he was here to-day,
He'd make it hot for the pious lot
  Who don't do as they say.

He didn't speak behind folks' backs,
  But met them face to face;
He called spades spades, and dubbed knaves,
  And always proved his case.

He neither cared for place nor power,
  Nor feared the lions' den;
A godly cause will lock the jaws
  Of beasts, or jealous men.

Whatever God at any time
  Might write upon the wall,
He'd up and say, without delay,
  To King and Court and all.

Dan didn't say "Belshazzar, Sire,
  Your faults are peccadilloes";
He hit his sin with a rolling pin,
  And not with feather pillows.

Dan didn't sugar-coat his pills,
  Half doses didn't please him;
To save a life he'd use the knife
  And bleed a fool to ease him.

Old Daniel ran a college once
  Which turned out three invincibles;
A verse or two will let you know
  What things he taught as principles.

Dare to be a Dreadnought,
  With purpose true and firm;
Dare to live on simple fare,
  And don't become a worm.

Dare to be a Dreadnought,
  Dare to beard a King;
Tell him all the truth and don't
  Emasculate the thing.

Dare to be a Dreadnought,
  Faithful, loyal, bold,
Scorning under any threats
  To worship man or gold.

Dare to be a Dreadnought,
  Not a dressed up "toff,"
Nor glorified policeman,
  Nor gun that won't go off.

Make a bold confession,
  Though it means the rod;
Dare to kick the devil hard,
  And dare to trust in God.
  —C. T. Studd (1860-1931)

Selected from Quaint Rhymes for the Battlefield... by C. T. Studd. London: James Clarke & Co., [1914].

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