by Pat Andrews
We live our lives quickly,
As a tale that is told,
One day we’ll wake up,
To realize we’re old.
(Ps. 39:5; 89:47; 90:9)
The few days we spend here,
Slip away very fast,
Eventually we’ll realize,
They’re not going to last.
(Eccl. 2:23; 12:5)
Some who have gone on,
Have left holes in our life,
Our family; close friends,
Our husband or wife.
(Gen. 37:35; Ps. 38:6)
We can’t bring them back here,
But we’ll follow them there,
On our march to the grave,
In their fate we will share.
(Ps. 88:3; 89:48)
Man born of woman,
Has a little time and that’s all,
With lives full of trouble,
Until death comes to call.
(Job 5:7, 14:1; Eccl. 2:23)
We are born in this world,
Amidst trouble and strife,
And little by little,
We expend all of our life.
(Ps. 90:10)
Our life is a vapor,
Nothing more than the wind,
Likened to a puff of smoke,
That will never be again.
(Jas. 4:14; Ps. 102:3)
Our time here has a purpose,
There’s a reason we’re here,
The whole duty of man,
Is to love God with fear.
(Eccl. 12:13-14)
The fear that we show God,
Is not terror; not at all,
It’s shown by our praises,
And reverential awe.
Ps. 149; 150).
Whether we’re wise or a fool,
A righteous or wicked man,
Our names will soon be forgotten,
From out of this land.
(Eccl. 2:16; 8:10)
Our spirits will fly away,
And our bodies will rot,
It’s a fate we all face,
Whether we like it or not.
(Eccl. 7:2; 12:7).
Our life under the sun,
Is hastening away,
We should fix it in our hearts,
And prepare for that day.
(Ps. 88:3; Eccl. 7:1-4)
Mortality has caught others,
It’s before us; it’s close,
The cold hand of death,
Will soon grab at our throats.
(Eccl. 9:11-12)
It’s an appointment before us,
There’s no way around it,
Each person who lives,
Will one day propound it.
(Ps. 89:48; Heb. 9:27)
For we must needs die,
It’s the end of our way,
From the moment of birth,
We march toward that day.
(2 Sam. 14:14; Eccl. 9:1-3)
We can prepare for that day,
Or live a life filled with mirth,
Our eternity will be fixed when we,
Go the way of all the earth.
(1 Kings 2:2; Ps. 89:48)
Patrick Andrews
Patrick Andrews, author of this poem, has been widowed for nine years, and attends the Prince Street Church of Christ in Conway, AR. He can be reached at ponchoandrews630@gmail.com.
