Why do men so blindly seek for pleasure and for gain,
daily striving here and there, for things that are vain?
"Not enough, I must have more," seems their only thought.
Never are they satisfied, though all this is for naught.

Some like to watch while others lose, and win the day's race,
desiring fame or fortune that awaits them at First Place.
Others covet things they want through envy, lust, or greed,
and go about to get these things–things they do not need.

If shelter, clothes, and food you have, why lust for profit so?
Why not be thankful you are well, and let the other go?
For there are those around you who are suffering and poor,
to whom the goodness you've been shown would mean so much more.

Remember then from where you came, and know now where you stand,
and thank the One who gave to you, in His love and from His hand,
all good things you now enjoy, that you thought you had achieved,
for by His grace, and not your works, this goodness you received.

"What?" you say in disbelief, "These things I surely bought.
On my own and by myself I get the things I want.
No one helped or gave to me; it was my own hands,
and what I have I got myself. Can't you understand?"

So by chance, you were born, and now live today,
and as for all you are and have, it just turned out that way?
Safe and warm, without a fear, with much prosperity,
you look around and do not know what your eyes can't see?

Ponder now your current state and all that you possess,
and tell me that by your great strength you made yourself so blessed.
From where came opportunities that led you on your way,
and how could chance have given you all you have today?

If you still do not believe that thankful you should be,
I know of something He has made, a wondrous work indeed,
That though neglected and rejected, abandoned and ignored,
the Holy Bible shows the way that you can be reborn.


God weaves a beauteous tapestry
to hang on Heaven's starry wall.
Each silver cord which binds us here
will hold angelic hosts in thrall.

The lovely moments of our lives
are there for all eternity,
each act of charity bestowed,
in saintly generosity.

The widow's mite shines brightly there,
by love transmuted to gleaming gold,
dark prisons that once held tortured souls
as ivory palaces the saints enfold.

The miser's hoard is not seen there, 
nor curses of earth's shameful wars, 
but healing love forgiving wrongs  --
Samaritans relieving scars. 

The sacred crowns are woven there
for arriving saints in awe to see, 
the crowning of each holy tale, 
each triumphant biography.

Sue Cody

Copyright © 2003