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A Solider Meets His Maker
"THE FINAL INSPECTION"

The Solider 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, My child.
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my church have you been true?"

The Solider squared his shoulders and said,
"No lord, I guess I ain't,
Because those of us who carry firearms
can't always be a saint."

I've had to work most Sundays,
and at times my talk was rough,
and sometimes I've been violent,
Because the war was awfully tough.

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 time 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 fear.

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 solider waited quietly,
For the judgment of his god.

"Step forward now, My child,
You've born your burdens well.
Come march with me on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in hell


Author Unknown

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