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OUR HEAVENLY HOME

To little children “home” is that dear place where Mother is,
Where every wound doth ever find the healing kiss of love,
And little sobbing hearts are soothed to rest upon her breast.
In later years that dear word “home” awakes the precious thought
Of loving wife and happy little ones, and peace and rest,—
A refuge sweet where outside cares and worries cannot come.
And when the sun of life is sinking in the west we dream
Of “home” as that blest gathering place where often through the year
Our children, and their children, come with wealth of grateful love,
That makes our hearts forget the pain and toil of former years.

But to the Christian, though the earthly loves be near and dear,
The thought of “home” belongs to that most heavenly place where God,
And Christ, and all the holy angels are, where sorrow finds
No place, and every longing heart is fully satisfied;
Where we shall love and serve him perfectly, and meet again,
Nor ever part from fellow-pilgrims on “the narrow way;”
Where we shall sit with Christ upon his throne, and bless with peace
And joy the whole creation, groaning now in pain and tears!

And year by year the golden chain grows longer, that doth draw
Us closer to our heavenly home, as one by one, “the priests”
In silence pass beneath “the vail”—each one an added link.
Ah, then, to gain an entrance to that blest abode, shall we
Not count the present things but “loss and dross,” and lightly touch
Each object that might hold our heart’s affections to this earth,—
For where our treasure is, e’en there our hearts will also be!

—G. W. Seibert.

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— August 1, 1909 —