The flower of youth though but recently fled,
The sentence of death has been passed on my head.
My heart is unwilling, my conscience can’t rest,
My life’s not in order, by fears I’m oppressed,
         ’Cause I am not ready,
               Not ready to die.

I know in my head that the answer is Christ,
That I can be cleansed by the blood sacrificed,
But how can I make His atonement my own?
With all the wild oats and the mischief I’ve sown?
        I fear I’m not ready,
              Not ready to die.

The vile entertainment that once stole my time
Has nothing to offer but misery and slime.
I now see how empty and useless it’s been,
And worse—it has kept me from facing my sin,
        And now I’m not ready,
              Not ready to die.

Not knowing my need or the value of grace,
The gospel I didn’t quite fully embrace.
Although I have heard it and known it was true,
The depth of its riches I didn’t pursue,
        And now I’m not ready,
              Not ready to die.

Approaching the end of my days upon earth,
I see the Lord Jesus has infinite worth.
I should have been living to honor His name,
Instead I pleased self to my sorrow and shame,
        And now I’m not ready,
              Not ready to die.

But while there is life, there is hope for me yet,
There’s time to consider my ways and repent.
It takes but a breath to look up and believe,
And all of the riches of Christ to receive,
        And so to be ready,
              Yes, ready to die.

For death to myself even now while alive
Will open the door so I spiritually thrive,
And life everlasting will be my reward
For casting my care on a merciful Lord,
        Whose love makes me ready,
              Yes, ready to die.

It’s not that I’m anxious to leave all behind,
But just that I’ve gotten a strange peace of mind.
The love of my Savior has cast out my fear,
And soon He’ll in fullness of glory appear,
        And I will be ready,
              Yes, ready to die.

-Nita Brainard

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