Nothing Left to Judge

My father worked the railroad Forty years. Came home each night with coal dust in his Hair. He'd wash his hands before he touched our Faces. Said, "Dirt belongs outside, Not in these places." He never spoke much about tomorrow. Just showed us how To carry our own weight. When the storm rolls in And the river rises high. When you're standing at the crossroads, Asking why. All the things you held so close slip away Like rain. Nothing left to judge, But the love that still remains. Nothing left to judge but Grace. I buried him on Tuesday by the tracks. My brother couldn't make it, didn't call back. We hadn't spoken since the summer that Mama Left. Some wounds go deeper than we think they can Get. But standing there alone, I heard his voice Saying, "Son, forgiveness ain't a choice you make Just once." When the storm rolls in And the river rises high. When you're standing at the crossroads, Asking why. All the things you held so close slip away Like rain. Nothing left to judge, But the love that still remains. Nothing left to judge but Grace. I Called my brother from the cemetery gate. Told him things I should have said before too Late. He wept, and so did I. Some mountains move when pride steps Aside. When the storm rolls in, when the storm rolls In and the river rises high. Oh, when you're standing at the crossroads, Asking why. Oh, all the things you held so close slip Away like rain. Nothing left to judge but the love that Still remains. Nothing left to Judge but grace. My father worked the railroad forty years. Now I know What he was building here.