When I leave this earth below, will I see Jesus,
How will I know?
Will he be surrounded by an angel band?
Will he be sitting at God's right hand?
I know that Jesus can appear in many guises,
Had I met him here below, How would I know?
Could he have been that stranger asking for a ride?
Could he be the bum, holding up a sign?
Could he have visited me down here below?
How would I know?
Would he be disappointed in the choices I've made?
How many times has he tried, my soul to save?
How would I know?
If Jesus should come to take me to my home on high,
Would he be holding my hand when I die?
I would know because he told me that he would lead
me to the Promised Land,
All I had to do was take hold of his nail scarred hand.
So if a stranger should come to my door, I would help
any way that I can.
I will treat the bum like any other man, and strive every
day to be the best that I can.
I know when I die, Jesus will be holding my hand
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryThis is a compilation of poetry written over the course of many decades. Poetry containing my thoughts, dreams, imaginations, and observations. Some may be whimsical, while others may take another avenue. Thank you for reading, G. H. M...
