The Way to Be Free

I found this poem last evening in an old booklet that my mom had recently discovered among her late father's things. Dallas Gibson was the oldest of two boys raised on their parents' farm in central Ohio in the early 1900s. His grade-school teacher was his aunt Lottie, and when he finished grade school, he went to Mount Vernon Academy, canvassing to help with his tuition (if I remember the story correctly). Dallas loved the Lord and his dream was to go overseas as a foreign missionary. However, he contracted tuberculosis and was not able to go, so he after his high school graduation, he went home to teach the same little school his aunt had taught. In the hope of getting cured and at the same time still being able to do some missionary work, Dallas, still in his early twenties, moved out to the Southwest, somewhere in Arizona/New Mexico, to work among the Native Americans. He died of tuberculosis shortly after reaching the mission, though. Dallas's younger brother, Laurence, was my great-grandfather, making Dallas my great-great uncle.

"Now I'm free," thought Johnny Farm

As, with school books under arm,

Homeward he was bound.

"No more teacher's hickory sticks,

No more kicking 'gainst the pricks,

No more tedious round."

"Don your hat and be away.

We must do a lot today."

(This he heard next morn.)

"Hitch the team to Charlie's plow,

While I catch the spotted cow.

We must get out that corn."

"Now I'm free," he thought, "What fun!"

On his birthday twenty-one.

He never had a fear.

"Father dares not tell me now,

'Hitch the team to Charlie's plow.'

I'll boss myself from here."

He was thinking all that day

How to pile the gold away,

Or to gain a name.

"I'll be worth a million bucks,

With my shirt all filled with tucks.

I'll be known to fame."

So he hoarded all his gold,

Every mite that he could hold.

He was now high-toned.

"Now I'm free," he thought and planned,

"Millions are at my command,

And more I wish I owned."

Calls came from the foreign land - 

"Money needed for God's hand,

And men to give the light."

"This is mine; I need it all;

Give I cannot to the call;

Business holds me tight."

Conscience-stricken, he sought rest

At a table, richly blessed,

And indulged in greed.

"Thou are bound," still echoed on,

"Give thy money and go yon.

This will make thee freed."

"Lord, I give myself to Thee -

All my gold and silver, see?

Thine it is, I find.

I will go beyond the see;

I will tread the verdant lea;

Give light to the blind."

The Father said, "Then thou art free.

Thou hast given all to Me.

Surely thou art wise.

Take My yoke, for it is light;

Thou wilt know that I do right,

And see Me in the skies.

"Rest will come instead of pelf.

I will serve thee -- I Myself.

Thou hast peace in Me.

Thou may'st eat of all the fruit

Growing from the living root,

But bring thy sheaves with thee."

Jesus brought a golden crown;

On his head He laid it down,

And it shone afar.

"Thou art free," were Jesus' words,

"Thou may'st pay among the birds;

Naught will ever mar.

"Many days thy life shall be;

Thou shalt live eternally,

Praising God each day.

Free from every care thou art;

Praise thy God with all thy heart;

Thou art free this way."

--Dallas Gibson (written c. 1930)

Uncle Dallas had it right: the only way to have freedom is to surrender and to serve!