Now to sleep me down I lay,
its been a Glocca Morra day.
I beg you, not before I wake,
JesusGod, my soul don't take.
'Cause there's so much I'm still to be,
to hear and smell and touch and see.
If this is it, I'll miss the smiles
when walking daughters down long aisles.
I'll miss my firstborn fight out loud
to find his voice amid the crowd.
I'll miss her empty-nested tears,
the letting go of mother's years.
I'll miss the books I want to pen,
the stories stitched with grace and sin.
I'll miss the jack of growing old,
of braying no to what I'm told.
The good book says none know the hour
but by Your wonder-working power
'pass over me' is what I pray
come back again some other day.
But should I die before I rise
I want to donate both my eyes,
give blinder flesh the glass to see
the bitter-wonderful from Thee.