The dirty, homeless man that walks the street,
That mumbles to himself with fetid breath,
He is the kind of man you’d never meet,
The kind you’d never mourn upon his death.
Yet he consorts with angels evey day,
His heart’s as pure and white as untouched snow.
Then there’s the handsome man above the fray,
The kind of fellow we all love and know,
With such a voice that captivates the crowds
And smells like fragrant flowers full in bloom.
The Lord can see beneath their mortal shrouds
And knows what’s in their hearts, that secret room.
We judge a book by how its cover reads
But God knows how the story ends, indeed.
For the LORD seeth not as man seeth;
for man looketh on the outward appearance,
but the LORD looketh on the heart.
1 Samuel 16:7 KJV