The soldier stood before his God
Which must always come to pass.
He hope his shoes were shinning
Just as brightly as his brass.

“Step forward now, you soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my church have you been true?”

The soldier squared his shoulders and said
“No, my Lord I ain’t
Because those of us who carry guns
Can’t always be a saint.

I had to work most Sundays,
And times my talk was tough
And sometimes I’ve been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.

“But I never took a dollar,
That wasn’t mine to keep…
Though I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills got too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear,
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I’ve weep unmanly tears.

“I know I don’t deserve a place,
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Expect 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 understand.”

There was silence all around the throne
Where the saints often trod,
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgement of his God.

“Step forward now, you soldier,
You’ve borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven’s streets,
You’ve done your time in Hell.”

Author Unknown

(Thanks to John Skene for sending in this poem for ANZAC Day).