RECKON when our days are done
And God takes up our record sheets, And sees the battles we have won, He'll want to read of our defeats.
Our little failings He will view,
And gaze at us with kindly smile,
And maybe say: 'I see that you
Have faltered every little while.'
I reckon that he'll like to see
The blots and blemishes between
The splendid works of you and me,
To learn how human we have been.