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Twas
the night before Jesus came, and all through the house,
not a creature was praying, not one in the house.
Their Bibles were laid on the shelf, without care,
in hopes that our Jesus would not stop there.
The
children were dressing, to crawl into bed,
not one ever kneeling or bowing a head.
And Mom in her rocker, with the baby on her lap,
was watching the late show, while I took a nap.
When
out of the east, there arouse such a clatter,
I sprang to my feet, to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
When
what to my wondering eyes should apear,
but Angels proclaiming that Jesus was here.
With a light like the sun sending forth a bright ray,
I knew in that moment it was indeed that day.
The
light of his face, made me cover my head,
It was Jesus returning, just as he said.
And although I posessed worldly wisdom and wealth,
I cried when I saw him, in spite of myself.
In
the "Book Of Life", which he held in his hand,
Was written the name of every saved man.
He spoke not a word, as he searched for my name;
When he said "Its not here", my head hung in shame.
The
people whose names had been written with love,
He gathered to take to his Father above.
With those who were ready, he rose without sound,
While all the rest were left standing around.
I
fell to my knees, but it was to late;
I had waited to long, and thus sealed my fate.
I stood and I cried, as they rose out of site,
Oh, if I had only been ready, on this chosen night.
In
the words of this poem, the meaning is clear,
The comming of Jesus is drawing near.
There is only one life, and when comes the last call,
We will find that his word is true after all!
Poem Author: Dianne Donenfeld
used with permission
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