The
soldier stood and faced God,
Which must always come
to pass,
He hoped his shoes were
shining,
Just as brightly as his
brass.
"Step forward now, you
soldier,
How shall I deal with
you?
Have you always turned
the other cheek?
To My Church have you
been true?"
The soldier squared his
shoulders and
said, "No, Lord, I guess
I ain't,
Because those of us who
carry guns,
Can't always be a saint.
I've had to work most
Sundays,
And at times my talk
was tough,
And sometimes I've been
violent,
Because the world is
awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny
That wasn't mine to keep...
Though I worked a lot
of overtime
When the bills got just
too steep,
And I never passed a cry
for help,
Though at times I shook
with fear,
And sometimes, God forgive
me,
I've wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve
a place
Among the people here,
They never wanted me
around,
Except to calm their
fears.
If you've a place for
me here, Lord,
It needn't be so grand,
I never expected or had
too much,
But if you don't, I'll
understand."
There was a silence all
around the throne,
Where the saints had
often trod,
As the soldier waited
quietly,
For the judgment of his
God.
"Step forward now, you
soldier,
You've borne your burdens
well,
Walk peacefully on Heaven's
streets,
You've done your time
in Hell."