The constant dreams that fill my head,
Of horrid things I did or said,
Make me to turn upon my bed,
To search in vain for sleep instead.
I walk about throughout the day,
Mouthing the words that I must say,
To keep the rabid wolves at bay,
Distressed to think I’ve lost my way.
The time has all run out you see,
While there is yet eternity,
To reassure and comfort me,
My grand designs are not to be.
The City on the Hill I’d planned,
Was built, alas upon the sand,
To leave me with but one demand,
That death at last should take my hand.
Galatians 6:6 Let the one who is taught the word share all good things with the one who teaches. 7 Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap. 8 For the one who sows to his own flesh will from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the Spirit will from the Spirit reap eternal life.
Matthew 7:26 And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand.