The Little Missionary (Butterworth)

Abana was a riv­er

That near Da­mas­cus run;

Its bank of palms and ros­es

Lay beau­te­ous in the sun.

Now by the bright Aba­na

Did Naa­man re­side

And oft the dimp­ling wa­ters

Beheld with joy and pride.

But Naa­man

the vic­tor

Became a le­per there;

Was pi­tied by a cap­tive

A child of faith and pray­er;

She told him of a pro­phet

That could a le­per heal

And to his mind in sor­row

The liv­ing God re­veal.

This lit­tle mis­sion­ary

The con­quer­or be­lieved

And jour­neyed to the pro­phet

Who glad­ly him re­ceived.

He washed in Jordan’s riv­er

And was to health re­stored

Then came he to Aba­na

Rejoicing in the Lord.

All may be mis­sion­ar­ies

About their dai­ly care

And speak of faith in Je­sus

And help that comes from pray­er.

Some soul op­pressed by sor­row

May list­en to the word

Like Naa­man the le­per

And turn and seek the Lord.