Searching for
Heaven
Why cause me to look to the distant clouds
For angels and harps, and singing?
Why, in this lone and dreary world,
Is heaven a far-removed thing?
Heaven? No angels with wings is she,
Nor clouds oerlaid with gold.
Yet singing is something that heaven could be,
For singing is beauteous and bold.
Heaven? Tis bold. Tis beauty around.
It shines in the light and the breeze.
It is hidden like rays that strike the ground
Through the leaves of the blowing trees.
Heaven? Not clouds; for these are illusions,
Shadows crossing the thirsted land
that promise a higher and better place,
Yet dissolve in mist when in hand.
Heaven is flexible, enduring, broad,
Certain and scourging and sure.
It shreds illusions with its rod,
And claims all who willing endure.
Heaven is here, and heaven is now,
As salvation and Spirit are also.
Beauty and truth shine here, now,
When we our illusions forego.
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