My Life's Work Poem by Jay Loring

As closer to life's end I come,
The question seems to be:
Have I done all, or only some,
of what God planned for me?

His plan is good, I know it's true,
and long ago recorded.
And there is work for ME to do,
for which I'll be rewarded.

Not in this world for men to see,
but later, up in glory.
And what I lay at Jesus' feet
will tell of my life's story.

When Jesus asks at end of day,
what will His question be?
When as our Judge, we'll hear Him say,
"What did you do for Me? "

"To those locked up in prisons' pen,
so lonely in their cell,
did you make time to visit them -
the gospel story tell?

When I was sick and in my bed,
did you my burden share?
Did you remember what I'd said,
to show God's love and care?

And when your fellow man you'd pass,
did you their hearts rejoice?
Or were you just a tinkling brass -
an empty hollow noise?

For love without some work to do
is nothing but a word.
And words alone, an "I Love You, "
it simply is absurd.

And when you saw your fellow man,
unclothed, unfed, in need,
was your heart moved to lend a hand -
to show God's love in deed?

For hear My words and listen please,
the truth is this, you see -
that what you've done for the least of these,
you've done it unto Me."

You say you've faith. It's faith alone!
"The Lord will meet his needs."
And I say when all's said and done,
it's worthless without deeds.

See, faith alone is not enough
to feed my hungry friend.
Real faith is made of sterner stuff,
both love AND food to send.

For faith and work go hand in hand.
It's just like hand and glove.
And if I could with angels stand,
I'm nothing without love.

It's not that God's in need of me
to do His work and will.
It's just that He's a plan, you see,
He wants me to fulfill.

He's chosen us, these jars of clay,
though made of nought but earth,
to use us as His own display -
to show the world HIS worth.

The time is now, right here, today
to do your work for God.
Don't leave it for another day.
For one day you will trod

before the heavenly judgment seat,
where Christ Himself will look
at all our works, right there, complete -
all written in His book.

The wood, the stubble and the hay,
the silver, gems and gold -
all waiting now to have their say,
their story to be told.

Then from the throne a Holy flame
will put them to the test,
and purify the worthy ones,
then just burn up the rest.

And naked we'll stand before our Lord,
with nought but what was done
in love, according to His Word -
when faith and works were one.

When on that great and final day
I stand before His throne,
I want at last to hear Him say,
"Well done, My child, well done."