It’s
a slow way to die –
A little
bit each day,
Working
not for fame but
A little
bit of pay;
And
pay that doesn’t last –
And
as to where it goes,
I guess
I must confess
Nobody
(nor I) knows.
I pick
up the pieces
And
try to build once more
Some
semblance of order
Like
what I knew before,
Then
I see my great plans
Weren’t
so great after all,
And
defeat rises up
My success
to forestall.
I faithfully
labor
Through
the long, toilsome years,
Knowing
my share of grief,
Shedding
my share of tears;
Knowing
that this old world
Has
no treasure for me,
And
that while I am here
I shall
never be free.
Though
others may prosper
In this
old world below
Caring
not for the Lord
As on
their way they go;
Still
to Him I’ll be true,
For
in Heaven I know
A life-crown
is waiting
“The
Bible tells me so.”
At the
foot of the cross
I’ll
lay my burdens down,
Then
all that I have lost
I’ll
exchange for a crown.
H. L. Gradowith
03-27-2002