The Way of All the Earth
There’s but a step between me and death.
From dust I came, to dust I return,
For my days are made as a handbreath.
As a shadow and vapor is man’s breath;
So to number my days I must learn,
Since I’ve spent them as a tale that’s told.
I know my years are threescore and ten;
Though, by strength some are eighty years old.
Still, through labor and sorrow wings unfold.
None has power of flight now knows when,
Rightfully; all go unto one place;
Both the beast and man’s fate is the same.
So how eminent is this human race?
Who knows which spirit rises? Which is base?
Only those who have trusted the Name.
Thus, I ask, “Death where is thy sting?”
I die daily redeeming the time,
Til my judgement or the day of the king.
O grave there’s no victory that you bring
For I have hope of change sublime.
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2006
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