Am I My Brother's Keeper?
By Ann Exile
I stood at the bar of judgment,
Secure of my fate was I,
For back on my earthly record
No blemish could I descry. As I looked on those around me,
An old friend saw I near,
And I smiled a cheery greeting;
But his look was full of fear. So I asked him why he trembled;
For, as I remembered him,
No fear that's known to mortals
Could make his courage dim. But he deeply groaned in answer,
And standing by my side,
Said, "Never a hope of heaven is left,
For one who a drunkard died." 'Twas true, for I well remembered;
I had read the written Word,
But could speak no thought of comfort,
For the Judge's voice I heard. He referred me to my record—
No deed of ill was there;
But the good deeds, too, were wanting—
I had never known a care. Ah, yes, I had education;
A member of church was I;
Respecting neighbors deemed me
Quite sure of a home on high. But the Judge looked at my friend there,
Who trembled by my side.
"'Tis owing to your neglectfulness
That he a drunkard died. "For he trusted you more than others,
A word from you could save;
But you sent him on with a careless jest,
And he found a drunkard's grave. "You knew of his inborn weakness;
The danger, too, you knew.
When 'twas in your power to help him,
You carelessly withdrew." And I saw that a life in heaven
Could never be for me;
For neglecting to save another,
I had lost eternity.