We Stand Each Day Before God

by  R. Curtis

What if the deepest sleep at night,

The time when even dreams are nil,

Draws souls into activity,

Which, unremembered, happens still?

In fact, it may be God on High

Calls upon the soul in sleep,

And summons it before the throne

To give account of each day's keep.

Imagine such a meeting now;

A man who yet much loves his sin

Is tortured each and every night,

But never profit finds therein.

Each night recalls all past torment.

Each morning seems a good night's rest.

All night the truth shines before him,

At dawn, there's none within his breast.

And what says he while before God?

What anguish there pours from his heart?

Let us look upon this counsel,

For your own soul may play a part.

"Oh God!"  he says, "I'm here again

To stand before your Holy Throne,

Bearing the burden of my sin

As this day's actions you make known.

I see, Lord, what a louse I am.

I suck up all your grace and love.

To no avail I squirm and crawl.

Abuse is all I give above.

And how I hate your Holy name,

While for affliction I'm to blame.

Perfection I could have, but no,

I'd rather lead my own life's game.

But now my soul sees your glory,

And knows my hopes are all in vain.

I should cast down all this folly,

And seek your face more than my gain.

For when my pride is stripped away,

And lust no longer pulls me sore,

I see how good perfection is

And long to live in sin no more.

For all day passed without looking

At all the beauty you create,

Nor once stopping to consider

That all I have is your estate.

How stupid is the way I live!

With zest I tear what's left apart,

While yet I think to judge the truth,

When I can't even judge my heart.

Today the most important thing,

Which I considered great indeed,

Is now found of no consequence,

Compared to what I really need.

And there is so much more to learn,

So many things that I could do,

But they are all out of my reach,

Because my eyes are turned from You.

Oh God!  I know your ways are just!

And mine are horrid rottenness!

But I will follow mine to death

With all the lies I here confess."

And then the soul resumes its lodge,

The absence not remembered,

No better from this confidence,

No more prepared for his defense.

And day by day the life is lived

Til death ceases activity

And the soul flies back whence it came,

Shut up for all eternity.

This verse, of course, was just pure thought.

There is no proof that it is true.

Yet we are wise to consider

Just what we, in his place, would do.

For though each night we may not meet God,

There is a question yet to mend:

If, each day, we are not ready,

How then shall we be in the end?  

The background is from Boogie Jack's Pixel River.

The music is "Heartbeat" from Mickey's Midis.