When Christ comes to call me home,
I pray he will; but not too soon;
Hope begs He find me in shabby cloths,
Stained and torn and over used.
Not the wear with holes you buy
At some rich cloth boutique.
But real scars with tatters and holes
Made by years of wear and use.
Shredded hems worn through by rub
Grease from cars and paint redone,
Splatters of sauce from cooking meals
And stains from eating on the run.
Faded and dull from the hundredth wash
Mismatched buttons poorly sewn and patched
Thin at elbow, worse at knee
Yet warm and soft and clean.
Cost is not the issue dear
Nor appearance a concern
But that He find me at some task
Unaware and unconcerned.
No backless gown that won’t conceal
No uniform, or sheet, no suit or shroud;
That is worn around the house
Humble cloth in praises bowed.
I pray he will; but not too soon;
Hope begs He find me in shabby cloths,
Stained and torn and over used.
Not the wear with holes you buy
At some rich cloth boutique.
But real scars with tatters and holes
Made by years of wear and use.
Shredded hems worn through by rub
Grease from cars and paint redone,
Splatters of sauce from cooking meals
And stains from eating on the run.
Faded and dull from the hundredth wash
Mismatched buttons poorly sewn and patched
Thin at elbow, worse at knee
Yet warm and soft and clean.
Cost is not the issue dear
Nor appearance a concern
But that He find me at some task
Unaware and unconcerned.
No backless gown that won’t conceal
No uniform, or sheet, no suit or shroud;
That is worn around the house
Humble cloth in praises bowed.
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