The soldier stood and faced his God, Which must always come to pass; He hoped his shoes were shining bright, Just as brightly as his brass. "Step forward now, soldier, How shall I deal with you? Have you turned the other cheek? To my church have you been true?" The soldier squared his shoulders and said, "No, Lord, I guess I ain't; Because those of us who carry guns, Can't always be a saint. I've had to work most Sundays, And at times my talk was rough; I've had to break your rules my Lord, Because the world is awfully tough. But, I never took a thing That wasn't mine to keep; Though I worked a lot of overtime, When the bills got just too steep. And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear; And sometimes ... God forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears. I know I don't deserve a place Among the people here; They never wanted me around, Except to calm their fears. If you've a place for me here, Lord, It needn't be so grand; I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand." There was a silence all around the throne, Where the saints often trod; As the soldier waited quietly, For the judgement of his God. "Step forward now, soldier, You've borne your burdens well; Come walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in HELL!"