Its Not on a Ship Well Meet Again Abigailbut in Hell

Eternal Life
Poet: Caleb Davis Bradlee
We shall live once more! how true
That all will alive over again!
And in a world most grandly new
Will worship and adore.

Life once more! aye, with God, the Rex,
Who takes the states from this earth
That he may greater blessings bring
At our eternal nascency.

Live again! yes, with Christ, and so dear,
Who taught the excellent truth,
And made the fact so very articulate,
Of an immortal youth.

Live again! yes, with love ones gone
So far from mortal sight!
Live where all hearts shall be like one,
Where all is blessed light.

Thank you, God, for this holy peace,
This greatest gift of thine,
That whilst our earthly function must cease,
Equally angels we shall shine.
Contentment
Poet: Guy Hootman
When families move long miles abroad
Parents and children yearn
And sometimes practice return
To their familiar scenes of yesterday.

Their faithful dog is well content,
Relaxed in calm tranquillity,
If he can exist with those
Who him a little love has lent.

So Christian when y'all're called above
Information technology will non matter where
You will be happy there
To exist with God and Christ and friends y'all dear.
Heaven
Poet: Daniel C. Colesworthy
And his rest shall be glorious. Isa. 11:10
In that location is a glorious land afar,
Beyond the brightest burning star,
Where peace interminably reigns;
Where soft and balmy breezes blow,
And golden rivers gently flow,
And gladness smiles o'er all the plains.

No groveling thought, no treacherous grinning,
No word unkind, no act of guile,
Will e'er disturb the sacred rest:
On every peaceful brow will shine
A living dazzler all divine,
And dear pervade the sinless chest.

The ills of life, that hover o'er
Our sunniest path, are felt no more;
The cares of earth, a dismal train,
That follow every footstep we take,
Will there the happy soul forsake,
And non molest her peace again.

At evening, when I sink to rest,
I dream of sky, the land and then blest,
And listing to hear the rapturous song.
glorious land! I would I were
In yon pure clime a worshipper,
Amid the brilliant and sinless throng!
Beyond
Poet: Henry Burton
Never a word is said
Only it trembles in the air,
And the truant vox has sped
To vibrate everywhere;
And perchance far off in eternal years
The repeat may ring upon our ears.

Never are kind acts done
To wipe the weeping optics,
Only like flashes of the lord's day
They bespeak to the skies;
And up higher up the angels read
How we take helped the sorer demand.

Never a twenty-four hours is given,
Only it tones the later on years,
And it carries up to heaven
Its sunshine or its tears;
While the to-morrows stand and look, —
The silent mutes by the outer gate.

There is no stop to the sky,
And the stars are everywhere,
And time is eternity,
And the hither is over at that place;
For the mutual deeds of the common day
Are ringing bells in the far away.
Preparing For Heaven
Poet: Greta Zwaan � 2008
The knob on the door to sky extends to one side alone,
It'southward a identify of great exaltation with God seated on the throne.
No demand for a knob on the inside, it's a abode where all long to become,
Where great joys are never catastrophe and praises ring to and fro.

The key that lets one enter cannot be bought with gilded,
No funds or jewels or empires; this key will not be sold.
No power, prestige or position, non tittles or honour or fame,
Information technology'south the wonderful souvenir of salvation, purchased with love in Christ's name.

It'south the sacrifice humans can't offering, no delivery we make can atone;
For sin has tainted our image, information technology'due south Jesus whose holy, alone.
And through God's nifty act of mercy, forgiving our failures and sin,
Tin can we pass through that door of conservancy,
Through Christ nosotros're allowed to come in.

Be assured there'south no other archway, though many take tried on their own,
The efforts of homo are all futile, every bit Scripture so conspicuously has shown.
The call to the lost is, "Come hither, earthly belongings are vain,"
Rise to the plea that's extended, it may not exist offered again.

Many are those who will falter, leaving their fate to the final,
Forgetting that time'due south of the essence, the dye to their future is bandage.
Show God that yous are responding, bandage aside all your earthly cares,
Fix for your journeying to heaven where all of Christ's blessings y'all'll share.
We Build The Ladder
Poet: J. G. Holland
Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But nosotros build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth, to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its acme round past round.

I count this matter to be grandly true:
That a noble act is a step toward God,
Lifting the soul from the mutual clod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We ascent past the things that are under feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
Past the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, nosotros trust,
When the morning calls u.s. to life and lite,
But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night,
Our lives are abaft the sordid grit.

We promise, we resolve, nosotros aspire, we pray,
And we retrieve that nosotros mount the air on wings
Beyond the think of sensual things,
While our anxiety still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angels, merely feet for men!
Nosotros may borrow the wings to find the way—
We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray;
Simply our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown
From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;
Merely the dreams depart, and the vision falls,
And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a unmarried bound;
Merely we build the ladder past which we rise
From the lowly earth, to the vaulted skies,
And we mountain to its summit, circular by round.
Finding Blessings
Poet: Greta Zwaan � 2010
I want to be a tool in the hands of the Master,
I desire to serve where e'er He desires.
I want to be pliable, ready for activity,
Draw others to Him as the Spirit inspires.

I receive blessings, more than than abundant,
I have so much to exist thankful for;
I want to repay some of God'due south goodness,
My keen Creator whom I admire.

What tin I offer? How can I delight Him?
What can I bring that will crusade Him please?
He is the possessor of all my possessions,
He is the ruler o'er the day and the night.

He has no need of whatever I bring Him,
All of my possessions He already claims.
It'southward my submission in line with His guidance,
Walking the walk as He constantly trains.

Daily preparing my journey to sky,
Closely observing the road I must take,
Vigilant, wary, always responding,
Cautiously searching, alarm for my sake.

All He desires is my perseverance,
Total submission to what He requests,
Fully subjected to His complete guidance,
My faith will grow strong, I'll be richly blessed.
Oh! If My Weary Soul
past Mary C. Ryan
Oh! if my weary soul this night,
Should quit its mortal frame.
And from this dreary world take flight,
On the fleet wings of fourth dimension;
To dust my body would render,
They'd say, She sleeps in decease;
But ah ! where would my soul he borne
So silently from earth?

Oh! would my soul observe residue and peace,
In realms of endless day;
Where all life's woes and storms would stop
Midst joys that ne'er decay?
Or would information technology sink to that dark shore.
Of pain and misery,
Where hope, bright star, would gleam no more
Through all eternity?

O God! help me to choose the right,
And always ready exist;
Then when I encounter life'south darksome night,
'Twill bring no fears for me.
And when my soul is poised to fly
Over the sea of death;
Oh! send bright angels from on high
To comport me from the earth.
Heaven Holds All To Me
Poet: Tillitt S. Teddlie
Globe holds no treasures but perish with using,
However precious they be;
Yet there's a country to which I am going,
Sky holds all to me.

Out on the loma of that wonderful country,
Happy, contented and costless,
Loved ones are waiting and watching my coming,
Heaven holds all to me.

Why should I long for the earth and its sorrows,
When in that home o'er the sea,
Millions are singing the wonderful story,
Heaven holds all to me.
May I
Poet: George Eliot
May I reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
And then shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the earth.
An Appeal To The Blind
Poet: Maria J Contrivance
Come, all ye afflicted, and heed to me:
With the eyes of faith every ane can see;
To the vocalization of your censor your ear shall nourish,
And the praise of your center unto Heaven ascend.

Then go on yourselves gentle, pleasant, and dandy,
With a smile on your faces, both cheerful and sweet;
The seeds of His Kingdom are in your hearts sown;
Your eyes shall be opened before His Throne.

Ah, then you shall see His glorious face up.
When you stand before the throne of grace;
Your lips shall sing praises, sweetness and clear,
And your ears the music of Heaven shall hear.
If God
Poet: James Montgomery
If God hath made this earth so off-white,
Where sin and decease abound,
How beautiful beyond compare
Volition paradise be found!
I Music
Poet: Edwin Markham
There is a loftier place in the upper air.
Then high that all the jarring sounds of World —
All cursing and all crying and all mirth —
Melt to i murmur and ane music in that location.

And so mayhap, high over worm and clod,
There is an unimaginable goal,
Where all the wars and discords of the soul
Make one still music to the heart of God.
My Heaven
by C. C. Fraser-Tytler
I sometimes call up my Heaven may exist
A green identify, with an orchard tree,
And i sweet Affections, known to me.
Life Is
Poet: Unknown
Life is
A journey, not a habitation;
A road, not an abiding place;
A preparation, not an dwelling of rest.

The joys of the way are but as resting spots on the road,
Where we may be refreshed for the moment
That again nosotros may journey on,
Seeking what is still before the states -
The residue that remaineth for the people of God.
Friends That Travelled With Me
Poet: H. M. Reasoner
Many friends that travelled with me
Reached Heaven's portal long agone;
One by 1 they left me battling
With the dark and crafty foe.
They are watching at the portal,
They are waiting at the door;
Waiting but for my coming -
The beloved ones gone earlier.
Better Than Gilt
Poet: Alex Smart
Better than grandeur, better than gold,
Than rank or titles a hundred-fold,
Is a healthy trunk, a mind at ease,
And uncomplicated pleasures that always delight.
A middle that tin feel for a neighbour'southward woe,
And share his joy with a friendly glow,
With sympathies large enough to infold
All men as brothers, is better than gilded.

Better than gold is the sugariness quiet
Of the sons of toil when their labors close;
Improve than gold is the poor man's sleep,
And the lotion that drops on his slumbers deep.
Improve than gold is a thinking heed
That in realms of idea and books tin can notice
A treasure surpassing Australian ore,
And alive with the not bad and skillful of yore.

Amend than gold is a peaceful dwelling house,
Where all the fireside charities come;
The shrine of love and the oasis of life,
Hallowed by mother, or sister, or married woman.
However humble that domicile may exist,
Or tried with sorrows by Heaven'southward decree,
The blessings that never were bought or sold,
And heart at that place, are better than gold.

Meliorate than gold in affliction's hour
Is the balm of love with its soothing power;
Amend than gold on a dying bed
Is the hand that pillows the sinking head.
When the pride and glory of life decay,
And earth and its vanities fade abroad,
The prostrate sufferer needs not to exist told
That trust in Heaven is amend than gold.
The Joy Of Incompleteness
Poet: Unknown
If all our life were i broad glare
Of sunlight, clear, unclouded;
If all our path were smooth and fair,
By no soft gloom enshrouded;
If all life's flowers were fully blown
Without the sweetness unfolding,
And happiness were rudely thrown
On hands also weak for holding
Should nosotros not miss the twilight hours,
The gentle brume and sadness?
Should nosotros not long for storms and showers
To break the constant gladness?

If none were sick and none were sad,
What service could we return?
I think if nosotros were always glad,
We scarcely could exist tender.
Did our beloved never need
Our patient ministration,
Earth would grow common cold and miss indeed
Its sweetest consolation;
If sorrow never claimed our heart,
And every wish were granted,
Patience would die, and hope depart
Life would be disenchanted.

And yet in heaven is no more night,
In heaven is no more than sorrow!
Such unimagined new please
Fresh grace from pain will infringe.
As the poor seed that underground
Seeks its true life above it,
Not knowing what will at that place be found
When sunbeams osculation and beloved it,
So we in darkness upward abound,
And look and long for heaven,
Just cannot picture it below
Till more of low-cal exist given.
The Church Steps
Poet: George T. Foster
Two centuries of steps and then
A field of graves!
With many a sculptured tale of men
Lost in the waves.

You climb and climb, with here and there
A seat for jiff,
To find amid the high air
A realm of death.

And thus it is with human life
Men toil to rising,
And lo! above the strain and strife
A graveyard lies.

Two centuries of steps, and then
Amid the graves
A holy firm that tells to men
Of Him that saves.

O weary men, and women worn,
That there have found
And notice bright hints of heavenly morn
On earthly ground!

And then atop the steps of fourth dimension,
If climbed aright,
Heaven's glad and everlasting clime,
And domicile of light.
Rest In Sky
Poet: Emma V. Sweeten
There are no weary hearts in Heaven,
No tired, agonized feet
But joys and smiles innumerable,
Equally saints each other greet.

When in the new Jerusalem,
We'll walk the golden street,
And sing the praises of our Lord,
Or sit at Jesus' feet.

The storms of life which o'er the states rise,
And darken all our manner,
Will not be felt beyond the skies,
For in that location 'tis always day.

There in our Father'south home in a higher place,
The dwelling of the blest,
Nosotros'll come across with loved ones 'round the throne,
And at that place forever rest,

A residual from sin, a remainder from toil,
From suffering and hurting;
No earthly cares our elation can mar,
Nosotros'll not return once again.

Toil on, toil on, ye weary ones,
With grief and sorrow pressed,
'Tis but a niggling while below,
So joy and endless rest.
Heavenly Urban center
past Catechism Farrar
And very shortly we shall have made our last stay of all;
the sky volition flush with the ruby of its last dusk;
the concluding long shadows of the twilight will lengthen circular united states;
the last farewell will be sighed forth from weary lips.

After that our tent will be moved no longer;
for then we hope that information technology will be pitched, for the final time,
under the walls of the heavenly city,
and the sun shall go downwardly on us no more.
A Sacred Spot
Poet: William Hunter
There is a spot to me more than dearest
Than native vale or mountain,
A spot for which affection'south tear
Springs grateful from its fountain.
'Tis not where kindred souls grow,
Though that is most heaven;
But where I first my Savior institute
And felt my sins forgiven.

Hard was my toil to reach the shore,
Long tossed upon the ocean;
Above me was the thunder's roar,
Beneath the wave's commotion;
Darkly the drapery of night was thrown
Around me, faint with terror;
In that dark 60 minutes how did my groans
Ascend for years of error!

Fainting and panting as for breath
I knew not help was most me;
I cried, "Oh, salvage me, Lord, from death!
Immortal Jesus, hear me!"
Then quick equally thought I felt him mine;
My Savior stood before me;
I saw his effulgence circular me shine,
And shouted, "Glory! Glory!"

O sacred hour! O hallowed spot!
Where love divine first found me.
Wherever falls my distant lot,
My centre still lingers round thee;
And when from globe I ascension to soar
Up to my dwelling in heaven,
Downward will I cast my eyes once again
Where I was first forgiven.
What Is Heaven?
Poet: Unknown
"What is heaven?" I asked a little child;
"All joy!" and in her innocence she smiled.

I asked the anile, with her care oppressed;
"All suffering o'er, oh! heaven, at last, is residue!"

I asked the maiden, meek and tender-eyed;
"It must be dear!" she modestly replied.

I asked the creative person, who adored his art;
"Heaven is all dazzler!" spoke his raptured heart.

I asked the poet, with his soul afire;
"'Tis celebrity - glory!" and he struck his lyre.

I asked the Christian, waiting her release;
A halo round her, depression she murmured, "Peace!"

So all may look with hopeful eyes in a higher place;
'Tis beauty glory, joy, rest, peace, and dear!
Present Salvation
Poet: Georgia C. Elliott
Is information technology just the hope of heaven
When this troubled life is o'er,
And the thought that there'southward a mansion
Waiting on the other shore?

Is information technology simply the hope of being
Some day pure and white within,
And that when across the river,
We shall then exist free from sin?

Is information technology just the promise of having
Peace and gladness by and by?
Though on earth are sighs and sorrows,
All is glorious in the sky?

No! the hope I take now gives me
Joy and peace beyond compare,
And my blessed Lord has taken,
All my trials and my care.

Oh! the precious hope we harbor
Is an anchor to the soul;
Never demand the heart be troubled,
Though the raging waters curlicue.

No, we need non cross the river
Ere our nighttime forebodings cease;
For just now my centre's o'erflowing
With, a stream of perfect peace.
We'll Empathize
Poet: Maxwell N. Cornelius
Not at present, but in the coming years,
It may exist in the better country,
We'll read the pregnant of our tears,
And there, sometime, we'll understand.

"We'll grab the cleaved thread again,
And terminate what nosotros hither began;
Heaven will mysteries explain,
And then, ah, then, nosotros'll understand.

We'll know why clouds instead of sun
Were over many a cherished plan,
Why vocal has ceased when scarce begun;
'Tis in that location, former, we'll understand.

Why what we long for most of all,
Eludes so oft our eager hand;
Why hopes are crushed and castles autumn, -
Up there, former, we'll sympathise.

God knows the style, he holds the key,
He guides us with unerring hand;
Sometime with tearless eyes nosotros'll run across;
'Tis, there, up there, we'll understand.

And then, trust in God through all thy days;
Fearfulness not, for he doth agree thy hand;
Though dark thy way, still sing and praise:
Erstwhile, sometime, we'll empathise.
The Promised Land
Poet: Amos E. Flint
There is a land by organized religion I've seen
Where skies no clouded regions know;
Where fields of verdure wave serene
And Sharon'southward fragrant roses abound.

No shadows fall to blight the view
Where realms ambrosial ever flower;
No mourner'due south tears the eye bedew
Where Zion's hills the air perfume.

Life-giving streams there gently flow
That never dry out through countless time.
And on their banks perennial grow
The fairest fruit in Eden clime.

That country has a city bright,
Whose streets are paved with purest gold;
No need of dominicus to requite it light, -
Its light the Lamb by sevenfold.

That land no desire has ever known,
Nor pain nor sickness nor distress;
Its dwellers 'neath no burdens groan
That anxiously their joys oppress.

Upon that vernal, blissful shore
Death, the terminal enemy, is slain;
There those who run into shall office no more,
And those long parted meet again.

O glory-flooded domicile of dearest,
Where toilers, freed from care, are blessed'
Had I fleet pinions of a pigeon,
I'd quickly fly to thee and balance.
The Evergreen Mountains Of Life
Poet: James G. Clark
There'due south a land far away mid the stars, we are told,
Where they know not the sorrows of fourth dimension;
Where the pure waters wander through valleys of gold
And life is a treasure sublime.
'Tis the state of our God, 'tis the dwelling of the soul,
Where ages of splendor eternally scroll,
Where the way- weary traveler reaches the goal
On the evergreen mountains of life.

Our gaze tin can non soar to that heavenly land,
Simply our visions accept told of its bliss;
And our souls by the breeze from its gardens are fanned,
When we faint in the deserts of this;
And we sometimes accept longed for its holy repose,
When our spirits are torn with temptations and woes;
And we've boozer from the tide of the river that flows
From the evergreen mountains of life.

Oh, the stars never tread the blue heavens
Simply we think where the ransomed take trod,
And the day never smiles from its palace of low-cal
Just we feel the bright smiling of our God.
We are traveling homeward through changes and gloom
To a kingdom where pleasures unchangingly blossom,
And our guide is the glory that shines through the tomb
From the evergreen mountains of life
The Heavenly City
Poet: Belle Staples
Past faith I look beyond the skies
And catch a glimpse of paradise;
I see the city, vivid and fair,
With jasper walls and jewels rare,
With pearly gates and streets of aureate;
Its glory never tin be told.

It needeth not the sun's articulate light;
'Tis always 24-hour interval, at that place is no night;
The Lamb of God, the spotless One,
Doth take the identify of moon and sun;
His celebrity fills that holy identify;
His loved ones meet him face to face.

The nations of the saved are there.
Without a sorrow, hurting, or care;
God lives and moves among his own;
They bow in rapture at his throne;
He brushes all their tears away;
Oh, rapturous 60 minutes! Oh, glorious day!

By faith I run into the mansions off-white,
The fadeless crowns the faithful wear,
The living fountains sparkling bright.
The saints and angels clothed in white.
My soul enraptured longs to rise
And join the hosts of paradise.

While gazing- at that happy throng,
I catch a strain of the glad, new song -
"Unto him that done u.s.a. in his blood
And hath made us kings and priests to God,
To him exist glory, honor, praise
Throughout eternal, endless days."

Oh, how the heavenly arches ring
With the song the angels can not sing!
They fold their wings and long to see
Into the marvelous mystery
Of sinners washed in Jesus' claret -
Redeemed from sin, brought back to God.
Joys Of Heaven
Poet: Nancy W. Priest
Beyond these spooky winds and gloomy skies,
Beyond Death's cloudy portal,
At that place is a land where beauty never dies
And dear becomes immortal;

A state whose light is never dimmed past shade,
Whose fields are e'er vernal,
Where nothing beautiful tin can ever fade,
Merely blooms for yeah eternal.

We may not know how sweet its balmy air,
How brilliant and fair its flowers;
We may not hear the songs that echo there,
Through those enchanted bowers;

The city'south shining towers we may not see
With our dim earthly vision,
For death, the silent warder, keeps the primal
That open those gates elysian;

But sometimes, where adown the western sky
The fiery dusk lingers,
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly,
Unlocked by silent fingers;

And while they stand a moment one-half ajar,
Gleams from the inner glory
Stream lightly through the azure vault afar,
And half reveal the story.

Oh, state unknown! Oh, land of love divine!
Begetter all-wise, eternal,
Guide, guide, these wandering, way-worn anxiety of mine
Unto those pastures vernal.
No Night Shall Exist In Heaven
Poet: Unknown
No dark shall be in sky; no gathering gloom
Shall o'er that glorious landscape ever come;
No tears shall fall in sadness o'er those flowers
That breathe their fragrance through angelic bowers.

No night shall be in heaven: forestall to sleep,
These optics no more their mournful vigils keep;
Their fountains stale, their tears all wiped away,
They gaze undazzled on eternal solar day.

No night shall be in heaven, no sorrow reign,
No secret ache, no corporeal hurting,
No shivering limbs, no burning fever at that place,
No soul'southward eclipse, no winter of despair.

No night shall be in heaven, but endless apex;
No fast-failing dominicus, no waning moon;
But there the Lamb shall yield perpetual light
Mid pastures green and waters e'er vivid.

No night shall exist in heaven. Oh, had I religion,
To rest in what the faithful witness salth,
That faith should make these hideous phantoms flee,
And get out no night henceforth on earth to me!
A Dusk Thought Of Heaven
Poet: K. J. E. Crawford
If brighter than that gorgeous cloud
The golden gates of heaven shine,
Deficient could I shrink from Death's stake shroud
Or dread his common cold lips pressed to mine,
So I might soar away to see
The home of balance prepared for me.

Far sweeter than the richest notes
On earth to cheer our spirits given,
Must exist the incessant hymn which floats
From angels' aureate harps in heaven;
And who would wish to linger long
From that blessed land of holy song?

Far stronger than the dearest ties
Which concur our yearning hearts below
Is that pure beloved which bids usa rise
The perfect will of God to know;
And tin the soul contented rest
Abroad from him who loves us best?
Nosotros Shall Know Each Other There
Poet: Unknown
When the evening shadows gather
And the long day'due south work is done;
When we accomplish that unknown country,
Out beyond the setting sun;
After all the weary waiting,
In their peaceful rest to share,
No more than demand of anguished parting, -
We shall know each other there.

Cherished forms who walked beside us
Down the long eventful years -
How we watched them as they vanished.
Through a mist of falling tears!
Loving voices hushed in silence
Joining with the angel ring,
Singing their triumphant anthems
Over in the Beulah country.

Simply some day if nosotros may enter
Through the pearly portals wide,
They will exist the outset to meet u.s.,
Over on the other side.
Safe within our Father'southward mansion,
Clad in robes all white and fair,
Chanting sugariness a joyous welcome,
We shall know each other there.

All the way they've walked beside us.
E'er near, although unseen,
Hidden from our blinded vision
By the veil that brutal between;
All the while familiar voices
Whispered words of hope and cheer,
Simply life's battles raged so fiercely
That our ears were dull to hear.

Hush, then, each rebellious murmur,
For we too are going home -
Going to notice our household treasures,
When these tired anxiety terminate to roam;
On the resurrection morn,
Free from pain and free from care,
With our tear-dimmed eyes fabricated perfect,
Nosotros shall know each other at that place.