Death

Death

Afraid and trembling humans are
Of death? A natural cause.
Just as birth, and yet we fear
To contemplate and pause.
They fear the thing that matters most,
The thing we all should pray,
Would come so quickly in this world,
And yet they run away.

They think about the end,
As a fearful, eerie man.
Clothed in black with hood on head
And sickle in his hand.

The blackness of their wicked souls
Has caused them all to hide.
From the creature who their souls he owns,
And made them dark inside.
They never know the meaning of,
This life, just live with trust,
That works of good, false deeds of love,
Will wash out their sinful lust.

They think about the end,
As a fearful, eerie man.
Clothed in black with hood on head
And sickle in his hand.

And yet we have seen hope, us few,
And are called to share it wide,
With all we come in contact with.
To drench God’s loving tide
On the shores of souls of men,
Wicked souls they may be.
The King commissioned us below
To spread eternity.

They think about the end,
As a fearful, eerie man.
Clothed in black with hood on head
And sickle in his hand.
But then the saved can show the way,
Of that loving caring man.
Clothed in naught but purple robe,
And nail print in his hand...