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"Just a Chink"
Sweet strains of music caught my ear
On Sunday afternoon.
I knew they came not from the church,
The hour it was too soon.
'Twas just a simple melody--
Yet, melody so rare,
That floated o'er the nearby bush
And mingled with the air.
The player was unseen to me--
I could not understand,
And wondered if 'twas radio flashed
From some far distant strand.
But still those strains crept nearer--sweet
Then quietly round the corner slipped
A little Chinese boy.
He didn't see me, 'cause I hid--
Just ducked down out of sight,
His face it wore a sunny smile,
His almond eyes shone bright.
I'm sure that he was thinking of
His far off native land,
As he played that old mouth organ--
Say! I tell you it was grand!
I don't know what his name is--and
I don't care what you think,
But there's music in the heart and soul
Of that bright little Chink.
It did me good to listen, aye,
And filled my heart with joy,
To know God put such music in
That little Chinese boy.
Come back again and play to me!
Come back! I understand!
I'll teach you melodies I know,
Give you the helping hand.
Don't heed what other folks may say,
Or other folks might think,
You're "human"--that's what counts with me,
Althou' you're just a Chink.
I said I didn't know his name--
Well, honest, that's quite true.
It might be Sing, or Wong or Wing,
Or Ling, or Long or Loo.
It doesn't matter, anyways, but
If "that kid's" name comes through,
I'll tell you all about it in
"The Sidney Review."
Sidney, V.I., B.C., Canada. Bob Sloan.