He lifted up his mortal cup,
To catch a brew of living,
But didn't know who'd fill it up,
Which giver would be giving.

Would the cup be filled with wine
Of life and love and gladness,
Or would the cup be filled with blood,
Of death and hate and madness?


His fate did not depend on chance
He had the final say . . . .
To take the cup and drink it up,
Or cast the cup away.

And if he drinks the cup of evil,
Filled with death and hate,
He'll surely find his destiny,
But know the truth too late.

The truth that evil does not stand,
Nor quench the burning thirst,
But drains the soul and fills the heart,
With living that is cursed.

But if he drinks the cup of life
Filled with love and good.
Then he will drink the wine of truth,
And know the grace of God.

Take the cup and lift it up,
Drink until it's dry.
But when it's done accept your fate
And do not question 'why'.

Drink, drink, mortal man,
Take your fill of living,
But fully know and understand
Which giver will be giving.