I will not go 'til it is said
His heart, his brains as fodder fed,
The worms in darkness as they feast,
Upon what now I value least,
As I upon my upward climb,
Escape earth's dirt and muck and slime,
Until at last at Heaven's gate,
I see at once my future fate,
Rewarded by the Master's hand,
All earthly treasure seems like sand,
To rest within His splendid glow,
My petty troubles left below,
To rest within His splendid glow.
© 1999, Deacon Ed Faulk
*Life is changed, not ended.
If you would like to comment on this, you may send mail to me here. Deacon Ed