Jan 10, 2012

There Is A Home

The vagrant flutters at heaven's gate
To sing, to cry, in hymn and praise
Aimlessly, a beseecher sought to pry
A prick of sin betwixt thine eye

Twas nigh the day , that it should come
When earth may feel the burning Son
And souls shall vividly disappear
As ashes blow with sneering jeer

There are many mansions I do assume
Wicked has fled amongst vaporous moon
The rivers have dried, the foul has died
There be not a wind for an angel to fly

Be of good cheer, for the sanction is lifted
For the tares from the wheat are finally sifted
The vagrant flutters at heaven's gate
To sing, to cry, in hymn and praise


jhp©2010-2011  

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