The fog rolls in; a dreary, dark mist.
Distant objects fade, soon to be missed.

When from this life, we wander away,
Our memory’s left behind that day.

Who will remember our own sacrifice?
What stories will be told of our life?

Honor, glory, faith, and good things?
Or evil, ugly, and awful tidings?

Will your life pass away, into the mist?
Or be like a fog light nobody can miss?

I know not what you would choose yourself;
But I know, myself, I’d want to help.

Living a life that wants naught, nor glory,
But directs ever heart towards Christ’s story.

To be a light that cuts through the fog;
Even in death, a lighthouse to lost.

So who will remember you on your day,
When, from this life, you fade away?

The fog rolls in; a dreary, dark mist.
When this days ends, will it be missed?

Fog of the Day’s End