The medic stood and faced God. Which must always come to pass. He hoped his uniform was clean, He'd gotten dressed kind of fast.

"Step forward now, medic. How shall I deal with you? Have you always turned the other cheek? To my church have you been true?"

The medic squared his shoulders and said, "No Lord I guess I ain't, cause those of us who wade in blood, can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays, and at times my talk was tough. And at times I've been violent, cause the streets are awful rough.

But I never took a penny that wasn't mine to keep... although I worked a lot of overtime, when the bills got far too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help, though at times I shook with fear. And sometimes, God forgive me, I wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place among the people here. They never wanted me around, except to calm their fears.

If you have a place for me, Lord, It needn't be so grand. I never expected or had too much, But if you don't I understand."

There was silence all around the throne, where saints had often trod. As there medic waited quietly for the judgment of his God.

"Step forward now, medic. You've borne your burdens well. Walk peacefully on heavens streets. You've done your time in hell."