The Policeman's Lot

The policeman stood and faced his God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.

"Step forward now, policeman.
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my church have you been true?"

The policeman squared his shoulders
and said, "No, Lord, I guess I ain't,
Because those of us who carry a badge
Can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was rough,
And sometimes I've been violent,
Because the streets are awfully tough.

But I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep.
Though I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills just got too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around
Except to calm their fear.

If you've a place for me here, Lord,
It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much.
But if you don't, I'll understand."

There was silence all around the throne
Where saints had often trod,
As the policeman waited quietly,
for the judgement of his God.

"Step forward now, policeman.
You've borne your burdens well.
Come walk a beat on Heaven's streets,
you've done your time in Hell."