Three wonderful men have been part of my life,
Two have gone to that Land beyond,
And now I have but one.

I’ve always felt that my men
Were as fine as men could be
My husband and father were poor church goers,
But they lived religiously.

Often I felt a wee bit guilty
When I would go to church alone,
And someone would say “Where’s your husband?”
I’d answer, “reading his bible at home. “

Then our minister told a beautiful story
As he closed his sermon one day,
Now I know I will never feel guilty again,
No matter what people say.

He told of a woman dying from tuberculosis,
She had worked herself to death,
Raising seven motherless sisters and brothers,
After her mother drew her last breath.

A church worker stopped by one day
To see what she could do,
To help this woman in a religious way
Before her life was through.

“My Dear, have you been baptized, confirmed, did you go to church?”
The answer to all was “no”
“Oh, how would you like us to help you
It is almost time for you to go.

“And just what will you tell the Master
When before him you stand?”
She drew her toil worn hands from under the covers
And said, “I’ll just show him my hands. “

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