He Dies the Day
There is a day a man can die
Long before his body lies
Staring sightless at the skies ..
He dies the day his heart grows cold
And draws a circle round his soul.
He will not let his Saviour in
To cleanse him of his worldly sin.
He dies the day he will not hear
Earth’s children crying out in fear,
Lest he himself become afraid
Of the choice he might have made.
He dies when he would do at night
What he cannot do in light;
Or leads astray the welcomed guest,
Or turns another from his quest.
He dies the day his greedy touch
Spoils the ones who love so much;
And thrives upon another’s pain
For his own unmindful gain.
He dies the day he wants to feel
His fist behind a shaft of steel
To taunt the weakling and the fool
And let them suffer in his rule.
He dies the day he would deride
The hand that helps him in his pride,
And treats a generous gift with scorn,
Or lets a friendship die stillborn.
. . .
He dies that day a death of heart
And he becomes a man apart
To travel down a lonely road
To the place of Death’s abode.
He will avoid the light of day
Nor smile to see the children play;
Each night he shelters in a tomb
To hide himself within its gloom.
Not for him the light of day
While his soul is in decay ..
He only knows that with each night
A noose is drawn around him tight
To strangle him who would not give
Part of himself that he might live.