If I were given one hundred years,

And was told to disperse them equally

Amongst the people, the place, the things

To all of that which meant most to me.

I would take eighteen and throw them away,

The price of learning who I am.

I would then burn two for the Lord my God

And in their ashes learn to stand.

 

The remaining eighty I would wrap up tight

And bring to your front door

With shaking hands and humble heart ask,

“Can we make these eighty infinitely more?”
For I was given just one hundred years you see, 

but even one hundred with you,

That’s not enough for me.
So my years are yours; what’s more my heart.

To have and to hold, till death do we part.

Then Christ will recover, what we ourselves could not.

Breaking the chains of death’s lonely rot.

So take my hand and we’ll walk you and I

To sit down with God, forever on high.
Rising together, cleansed by the lamb,

One soul eternal, touched by graces hand.