A Living Praise of Sir Elisha Ankuma Chori True Son of His Father, Late Rev. Ankuma Chori
He walks with purpose, eyes set high, A kingdom man beneath the sky. Not seeking praise, nor worldly gain, But sowing deep through joy and pain.
He lives to see God’s kingdom rise— Not built on thrones, but sacrifice. His heart, a treasury of light, His hands, a compass through the night.
He loves the clergy—heart and soul, Their silent burdens take their toll. But where they faint, he dares to stand, A steady voice, a healing hand.
Not from afar does he observe, He walks beside them as they serve. When strength runs low, when fires fade, He covers them in prayer and aid.
He listens long and speaks with grace, Restoring joy in broken place. A friend to clergy, near and wide, He lifts their calling, guards their stride.
Not by sermons or showy speech, But quiet deeds that angels preach. He’s found where wounded clergy bleed, Becoming balm to every need.
He gives not gold alone, but years, And waters hope with fasting tears. He knows their weight, their holy fight, And brings them back into the light.
In boardroom, altar, field, or tent, He builds with wisdom heaven-sent. Each act, a seed; each word, a stone— He crafts a kingdom not his own.
To him, each clergy is a flame, To guard, to shield, not to defame. He hides their scars, protects their name, And fuels their hearts to burn again.
His home is open, faith-filled ground, Where weary clergy rest unbound. He doesn’t count what he has given— For every gift is led by heaven.
He’s not just a man—he’s divine intent, A vessel of kingdom, fully spent. Each life he’s touched, each soul he’s fed, Is living fruit where he has tread.
From Rev. Ankuma’s fire and name, He bears the torch, he fans the flame. A son in spirit and in might, Who walks in truth and leads in light.
Sir Elisha—builder of lives, Where vision breathes and hope revives. God’s investor, quiet and bold, You trade not brass, but faith like gold.
For every clergy that you restore, A thousand more will serve the Lord. You’re not just planting—you're preparing kings, Training eagles, fixing wings.
O blessed man, still running strong, In heaven’s rhythm, heaven’s song— You are a sower time can’t erase, A living monument of grace. A testament to our generation.
From Rev. Dr. Habila P. Swanta