At the rapture please look down,
To see if your feet are on the ground,
I they are, you'll probably frown,
Never again will you hear that sound.
By Arley Steinhour 101112
So many people fly away,
High into the sky,
'Here, then Gone,' people say,
Investigators think they lie.
Auto's rolling down the road,
empty, as can be,
Semi-truck, with a full load,
Crashes into a tree.
Aircraft, at Thirty thousand feet,
Missing members of the crew,
Half the people gone from seats,
Planes crashing, and survivors few.
Missing people, from their bed,
We know they couldn't walk,
No arms or legs, on some they said,
The comatose, who can't walk or talk.
There is a way to not be here,
If you wonder, reading this,
Know that Jesus loves you dear,
He offers life, through His;
He came to earth to pay a price,
Not you, nor I, could pay,
Accepting Him, we don't die twice,
Die mortal, then in immortal way.
Some time, before the Rapture,
You need make peace with God,
Time of Jesus' coming, no man is sure,
Refusing Jesus, bears the Iron Rod.
Those of you still reading,
Should know, I'll not be here,
You may be Tribulation seeding,
For a short life, that has no cheer.