Poetry

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If peace should come as Death would prey,
It’s peace I’d beg to come my way;
Silent walks the hungered thing
With scythe in hand and peace to bring.
And now I lay me down to sleep;
I pray that peace leaves not to weep
A saddened lover in the mist
With sobs to lend a heaving chest. . .

But God would say who dies or lives
And almost all, my God forgives,
But it’s that one dark sin, you see—
The urge to run, the want to flee,
The giving up and giving in
When life’s hard times would seem to win—
That even God would ne’er forgive.

For 'tis His gift, the want to live.
Father, take me as I am;
I’d ask to be but one more lamb
Tended by The Shepherd’s care
Through darkest times and pure despair;
Hold my spirit in your hand
Until I walk in Heaven’s Land.

Amen.
--Monty Wheeler

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