Grace

George got up, it was a typical day,
To work he went, nothing wrong to say,
But along the way, tragedy fell at the hour of eleven,
For George died, and rose to the gate of heaven.

When he got there Saint Peter there stood.
"Long here have I stood with my key in hand,
And if residence here you want, as you should,
Then these are your crimes of which you stand."
And riddle them all off he did,
(What a day to be dead!)
And when an explanation was bid,
This is then one that was he said:

"Alas it is true,
I have committed all this,
And I know I must pay what is due.
But please do it with compassions kiss.
For I did as best I could,
Knowing my eager will,
Of sin and knowing it I would,
No matter the bill."

Poor Peter stood there,
With a dumb found expression upon his face,
"My brother please share,
Share with me in my place,
For long have I been here,
And I don't understand why?
Why find out about so much fear?
So much hatred, so much of that lie?"

George looked up at him and this is what he said:
"The truest friend is one who has lied,
The absent man has had whore in his bed.
The man who has nothing to hide,
Has found that out by pain.
The meekest one once was mad,
The most humble had fame,
And the best once was had.

Through love of God we stay on track,
And through sin we keep rounded,
For what the Godly lack,
Keeps them in chains bounded.
And what the sinful do,
Is an on going game of spiritual tag,
Like a sword it drives them through,
And so they kneel and to God they beg."

Saint Peter just stood there not knowing what to do,
A lost expressing on his face.
And then let him through,
For george had told him of grace.