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Monday, December 13, 2010

Roses, Old Books and Oh, have you not heard of that country above

Oh, have you not heard of that country above,
The name of its King and His infinite love?
His children are deathless and happy, I’m told;
Oh, will it abide-will we never grow old?

That wonderful land has a city of life,
Ne’er darken’d with anguish, nor dying, nor strife;
Its temples and streets are all flashing with gold,
Oh, can it be true, will we never grow old?

A mansion of wonderful beauty is there,
And Jesus that mansion has gone to prepare;
Its bright jasper walls how I long to behold,
And join in the song that will never grow old.

They tell me its friendship and love are so pure,
Its joys never die, and its treasures are sure;
And loved ones departed, so silent and cold,
Will greet us again where we’ll never grow old.

In life’s weary conflicts, there’s fainting and care,
Each year the gray deepens a shade in the hair;
But in the blest book where my name is enrolled,
I read of that land where we’ll never grow old.

‘Twill always be new, it will never decay;
No night ever comes, it will always be day;
It gladdens my heart with a joy that’s untold,
To think of that land where we’ll never grow old.

Rev. W. W. Baily

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