Terry D. Sutherland


When the will has come and gone
When youth is swept to sea
When the furrowed brow we won
Deepens, and knits angrily

Will we know the price of war?
Will we know a kinder day?
Will we know the final score?
When our souls have given way?

When we reach our final stop
When we can rest forever more
How many bushels in the final crop
Are tallied at heaven’s door

Will we see the irony?
Will we see the folly of it all?
Will we grieve an eternity?
When we see the final fall