THE FINAL INSPECTION

A soldier died and stood before God, as must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining just as brightly as his brass.

The Lord said, "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,
'Cause those of us that carry guns can't always be a saint.
I've had to work most Sundays, at times my talk was tough,
And sometimes I was violent 'cause this world is awfully rough,
But I never took a dime that wasn't mine to keep,
Although I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills just got too steep.
I know I don't deserve a place among the people here,
They never wanted me around except to calm their fears.
But if You have a place for me, it needn't be so grand,
I never had or expected much, but if You don't, I'll understand."

And there was a silence around the throne
Where saints had often trod,
As the soldier waited for the judgment of his mighty God.
Suddenly the Lord said, "Step forward, soldier!
You've borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in hell."

By: Peter A. Hornbach

From the Poetry.com