Worth

How much am I worth?

Am I worth the price of someone's life?

Am I even worth the price of love?

Have I earned along the way the comforts of each day?

Am I worth someone else to be near and hold me close and call me dear?

Of what measure is my worth?

Is it for better or for worse?

How much worth do my parents place upon my character?

And of my friends where do I stand on their placement ladder?

Of how much worth to society do I hold?

Is it written in small letters or in bold?

Am I worth the time for someone to know?

Or am I worthless with nothing to show?

 How is worth defined?

Is it all the same or are there different kinds?

Is my worth measured by what the mass's say?

Or am I measured by following the rules of my countries way?

Am I measured by how smart I am?

Or tossed aside as a sham?

Who wrote the rules of worth and named its price?

Has anyone attained it in this life?

Is worth how much money I make?

Or would I be viewed as a fake?

Is it how much land I own?

Or fame that seeps into my skin and bones?

Must I do great things and win great honor?

Or do deeds that no one notices till I am a goner?

Must my name be written in every news?

Must I be a doctor a lawyer or a humbler work can I choose?

 Worth, Worthless

Who judges where we stand?

Or what we can't do or what we can?

Is there no one that can judge me justly?

Can I myself a justly judge be?

Is there no one? 

Who can do it rightly done?

But then I stopped writing and looked at the sky

And I know the answer of how worthy am I

 

 

The Shadow of the Cross

At the drowsy dusk when the shadows creep
From the golden west, where the sunbeams sleep,

An angel mused: "Is there good or ill
In the mad world's heart, since on Calvary's hill

'Round the cross a mid-day twilight fell
That darkened earth and o'ershadowed hell?"

Through the streets of a city the angel sped;
Like an open scroll men's hearts he read.

In a monarch's ear his courtiers lied
And humble faces hid hearts of pride.

Men's hate waxed hot, and their hearts grew cold,
As they haggled and fought for the lust of gold.

Despairing, he cried, "After all these years
Is there naught but hatred and strife and tears?"

He found to waifs in an attic bare;
-A single crust was their meager far--

One strove to quiet the others cries,
And the love-light dawned in her famished eyes

As she kissed the child with a motherly air:
"I don't need mine, you can have my share."

Then the angel knew that the earthly cross
And the sorrow and shame were not wholly loss.

At dawn, when hushed was earth's busy hum
And men looked not for their Christ to come,

From the attic poor to the palace grand,
The King and beggar went hand in hand.

By John McCrae who was a Lieutenant Colonel in World War I

How Can We

How can we beings meant for eternity
Deal with the lose of death

How can we every day continue to be
When in our hearts such pain is felt

How can we who need unity
Deal with the pain when suddenly one is gone

How can we stay when all we want to do is flee
To turn back time to when you were still here among us

The tears come and flow
In a river of sorrow down my cheeks

To were shall we run, were shall we go
When we realize that we truly are so weak

Oh Lord bring us comfort
And meet us here

Be our stronghold, our fort
Be with us as we mourn the lose of one so dear

I ask that You be with us and comfort us with Your presence
Walk with us through each day

I pray that when we also come to stand before Your throne forever hence
That he shall be standing right beside You to welcome us in after we have walked our way

By Kalyn Hassoldt