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; I've had to break your rules, my Lord, 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 judgment 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!"