A dead soldier was facing God,
For lives will always pass;
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
"Step forward, now
How shall I deal with you;
Have you always turned the other cheek,
To my bible always true?"
The soldier snapped to attention,
"No, Lord, I guess I aint;
It seems that we who carry guns,
Can't always be a saint."
"I've had to work most Sundays,
My work was always rough;
At times I have been violent,
Because the job was tough."
"But, I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep;
Though I worked a lot of overitme,
When my bills became to steep."
"I never passed a cry for help,
But often shook with fears,
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I have wept unmanly tears."
"I know I don't deserve a place,
Among these good folks here;
They never wanted me around,
Unless a war was near."
"But if you have room for me,
It need not be too grand;
I never had, or needed much,
Im sure you understand."
A silence fell around that throne,
Where saints had often trod;
The dead soldier, with baited breath,
Feared judgement from his God.
"Step forward now, U.S. soldier,
You've borne your burdens well;
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done you're time in hell."