Whose Hand Will Stand

I desire my hand to endure and stand, When the harvest toil is done. We await the hour, yearning for a hallowed land, Where silence reigns, and the sound of guns is none. For long we've braved the boundless sea, Strengthened by tempests, unyielding and free. But now the time to journey home draws near; Soon, these waves will carry us no more, I fear. This burden, this curse, we’ve known before; Its weight is no stranger to our soul’s cries. Though flawed from birth, to sin we're sworn, Yet at home, every deed bears its price. And you shall pay, your dues divine, Without bribe or plea to alter the line. It’s blood, and tears, and toil to bone, Until the scales of justice stand alone. I ask you now, When they summon us home, Will your hand stand firm? Where will death find you? How near or far from the Lord shall you be?