The poem
Because I've eighty years and odd, And darkling is my day, I now prepare to meet my God, And for forgiveness pray. Not for salvation is my plea, Nor Heaven hope,--just rest: Begging: "Dear Father, pardon me, I did not do my best.
"I did not measure with the Just To serve my fellow men; But unto levity and lust I loaned my precious pen. I sorrow for the sacred touch, And though I toiled with zest, Dear God, have mercy, in-as-much I did not do my best.
"I bless You for the gift you gave That brought me golden joy; Yet here beside the gentle grave I grieve for its employ. Have pity, Lord,--so well I know I failed you in the test, And my last thought is one of woe: I did not do my best."
I really related to the fact in how we all fall short, and don't do our best.