A Man Upstairs

There is a man upstairs...
a man who labored with sweat and strain--
agonized through a hell of pain
long years for his family.

There is a man, I know, up there...
one who said farewell to ease--
tasked himself like Hercules
for sisters and for brothers,
for weakened, wayward mothers
and the fathers who abused
their blessings, lost...confused.

There is a godly man upstairs.
I know his name--not yet his face...
He’s earned his rest--none more,
but he’s working still;
he’ll build until
my home is all prepared...
for once my heart had dared
to trust this workman’s skill,
I knew his work, in me, he’d fulfill.

There is a man like me up there
who could have saved himself
from slave’s humiliation, loss
of privilege and the bitter cross...
But no reward awaited him
downstairs--here where dragons roam
and drudgery finds its wretched home,
where his very kin berated him
and a felon’s treatment fated him
and a father to Hades traded him...

There is a re-born man upstairs...
one whose work could not be cursed
or ever undone or reversed,
but ever counts for me,
when all of mine, disqualified,
lies burned to ash...all swept aside.
This workman took a throne
upstairs where he, second to none,
works all things for my good,
hears my complaints and writes in blood
the notes that buy me free
and pledges me the golden key
to enter in and live with him...upstairs.