Sands of time

Allotted breaths, a measured span,
A handful given to each man.
From heaven’s hand, the moments came
To build a tower or raise a wall,
To chase the wind, to grasp the sand,
Each choice laid bare by our hand.

We spend them on the gilded lie,
On feasts that fill, yet satisfy
A hollow space, a thirst for more
While knocking on a fastened door.

We trade for laughter, wine, or mirth,
And chase vain pleasures everywhere
Or hoard like kings in guarded towers,
Counting coins through fleeting hours.

We lose them in the fretful chase
For honour’s crown, for pride’s own face,
For wisdom’s key, for love’s illusion,
Caught in webs of our confusion.
“Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2)

Yet in that same brief, fleeting light,
Some choose to walk to different height:
To build a home on solid rock,
To heal the wound, to feed the flock,
To sow in tears and reap in joy,
To lift the head of the weary boy.

To love with hands both worn and kind,
To seek the truth, to free the mind,
To plant a tree, its shade ner seen,
And let compassion’s quiet river be.
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance…” Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4

And He who gave each numbered day
Who watched us choose, and saw us stray
Now looks upon the spent and saved,
The moments lost, the moments braved.

He counts the coins we cast away,
And those we gave in love’s display.
He sees the harvest of our years
The fruit of joy, the yield of tears.
“I have seen the travail, which God has gave to the sons of men to be exercised in it. He hath made every thing beautiful in his time…” (Ecclesiastes 3:10–11)

So when the final sands descend,
And earthly journeys reach their end,
The Giver waits, with patient eyes,
Beneath eternity’s vast skies.

He ponders, as the stars burn bright:
“My child, in all your borrowed light,
How many moments did you spend
For Me; as both your Lord and Friend?
How many, in the rush and race,
Did you return to seek My face?”
“Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth…” (Ecclesiastes 12:1)

For every moment is a gem,
A sacred diadem from Him,,,
Precious moments, lent, not owned,
Until our story is full-grown.
And when the final page is read,
We give them back, the spent, the led
Into the hands from which they came,
That speak the meaning of our name.

All is vanity,, don't be harsh on me, but ain't thats somthing to ponder on?

God bless, 😀

Trev

Check out this song, it's mighty!