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Reporting to Heaven


    The soldier stood and faced his God,
    Which must always come to pass.
    He hoped his shoes were shining bright,
    Just as brightly as his brass.

    "Step forward now, soldier,
    How shall I deal with you?
    Have you 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 rough,
    Because the world is awfully tough.
    But, I never took a thing
    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 often trod
    As the soldier waited quietly,
    For the judgement of his God.

    "Step forward now, soldier,
    You've borne your burdens well,
    Come walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
    You've done your time in Hell."






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