The red and yellow leaves are waving on the trees
In the afternoon at riverside, cool is the autumn breeze,
The sunny day, the clouds are high in the sky,
In breezing, the ray is warm to the passers-by.

In the very center of the city, on this silent brae,
The eye of the western sky is dropping his ray.
On this hallowed ground. No splendor statures, here,
Were erected, but the headstones with unreadable by the year.

The roads are round this ground, so river’s not calm,
The sound of the car’s continually heard like the psalm.
Their hometown is not same, so coming from many home-place,
They’d served this place for long. And they’ve lain in the same-place.

They erected the hospitals for the sick, schools for the young.
They’d supplied the people with the bibles their mother tongue
In this sleeping country, they inflated the people the spirit
Of freedom, following the order of the Holy Spirit.

Sometime they’d fought with the people, against the imperialists
And during the Korean War, fought against the communists.
They’re brilliant and men of ability, but not lived their own
Life. Here, they’d came for serving, not for their throne.

Their deed was great but their graves is not great not splendid
In this hallowed ground, the weathered stones is not branded.
But the covered moss is trying to talk the years,
And the bird is warbling something to worshiper’s ears.

They came here from the various countries and places with their family
Even they’d given up their happy life with their family
In their countries. They’d lived for serving the poor, in this country.
Lived as the father, the friend to them, and are lying this cemetery.

For long time, we’re indebted to them for what we’re,
The old trees are standing around the cemetery what they’re.
They’d gone. An now, they’re resting in the small cells. But their legacy
Is left, and we must succeed the thought in courtesy.

I’m walking the path between these gravestones,
Underwood Family, Appenzeller Family,
Shaw Family, Gale family,
Scranton, Hyde, Soda Gaichi,
Homer Hulbert, Bethell and the other many
Missionaries, and their young infants…
And I’m standing and slowly reading the letters on the gravestones.
Be rest in God’s breast! And recite their names in low tones
(Nov. 8th, 2024. Kinsley Lee)