The Final Inspection
Author Unknown
The Marine 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, Marine,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you turned the other cheek?
To my church have you been true?"
The Marine 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 Marine waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.
"Step forward now, Marine,
You've borne your burdens well;
Come walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in Hell."
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