Go spread to the needy, sweet charity bread,
For giving is living, the angel said.
O must I be giving again and again?
My peevish and wishful answer ran.
Oh no, said the angel piercing me through,
"Just give till the lord stops giving to you!"
Supposing today were your last day on earth,
The last mile of the journey you've trod;
After all of your struggles, how much are you worth?
How much can you take home to God?
Don't count as possession your silver and gold,
Tomorrow you leave these behind.
And all that is yours to have and to hold,
Is the service you've given mankind.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.07 seconds at 7:20pm on Nov 05, 2024 via server WEBX1.