The Best of Men

The best of men are men at best,
The best of friends turn out faithless,
Our happiest moments are marred with distress,
Our brightest days turn to blackness.

The liveliest creatures die to dust returning,
The most fulfilled hearts still searching, yearning,
In the soul a fires burning,
For something greater to be turning.

Our best works are filthy rags,
Stupid is the one who brags,
For the prettiest face soon sags,
And the fastest runner soon lags.

So then if all be dismal dust,
Filthy works, hate and disgust,
Where is the happiness for which men lust,
The peace, hope, and love to trust?

For if all men are as wicked as I,
Trusting in them would be a lie,
For they too shall soon die,
And can no more help than a fly.

There must be some deliverance,
Some beautiful final circumstance,
Something more than mere chance,
And life's deceiving calming trance.

Men have searched and vainly so,
For this question will not go.
The answer is impossible for natural man,
For one who does not know the great I Am.

When He down from heaven shines,
His perfect light illuminating heart and mind,
When He reveals Himself so graciously,
It makes the lame to walk, the blind to see.

When His love has touched your life,
When you cease from your evil strife,
To live the new life you've been given,
In sight of man with hope of heaven.

Then every pain becomes a joy,
Heavy burdens Tonka ™ toys.
Troubles turmoils turn to peace,
Contradictions quickly cease.

For although the whole cannot be seen,
Yet if a mustard seed of faith be given,
Then even this will cause to grow,
A faith to hope, a joy to know.