by Wayne Dillard
With an aged walk and a wrinkled face,
He stood up bold and strong.
Looking up at the stars that glimmered above,
The old man began his song.
From the courtyard of this small village house,
Where the church had gathered this night.
His song rang out into the dark,
As he worshipped with all his might.
 With arms lifted high he praised the Lord,
His voice as clear as his heart.
His words were Punjabi, their message divine,
And they hit you like some kind of dart.
One hundred and five they said was his age,
But the light in his eyes said, “No!”
His spirit was full of the life of God,
Like he was just 20 or so.
With fist tightly clinched and thrust in the air,
He made his meaning quite clear.
And the powers of darkness were fleeing, I’m sure,
As His worship filled them with fear.
The people had gathered to worship the Lord
When his song began to ring.
Now the angels we coming from miles around
Just to hear this old man sing.
 A more beautiful sound could not be heard,
Among the angels up above.
Because this old man knew the savior’s face,
And his unconditional love.
The old man’s song was lovely indeed,
To all who had an ear.
It came from his heart, of that there’s no doubt,
Cause he was unable to hear.
Occurred the night before Easter 1999 in a village worship service outside of Amritsar, Punjab, India near the Pakistan border.
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