“Where is heaven, dear mama?”
A babe on my mother's knee,
I asked that old, old question;
This answer she gave to me:
“'Tis the place above, my baby,
Where God and His angels dwell,
And if we are good, my darling,
He'll show what I can not tell.”
“What is heaven like, dear mama?”
As a child I asked once more,
Believing that she could tell me,
As she'd promised to, long before.
“How can I tell you, my daughter,
Save that 'tis God's own home,
Where He'll be waiting to greet us
When on earth we cease to roam?”
“What is heaven like, my brother?”
My eyes on the river were cast.
It seemed, in the moonlight sparkling,
A sight far too lovely to last.
But his eyes were still more lovely,
As he spoke of his home so dear:
“'Tis a place with no more weeping,
With never a pain nor a tear;
“A place where we'll dwell with Jesus,
Through an endless happy day;
And whatever there was of sorrow
By His hand will be swept away.”
Through these words I found my Saviour,
And now, when the river I see,
I think of the river in heaven,
Where Jesus is waiting for me.