Memoirs and Select Remains of the Rev. Thomas Rawson Taylor/A Story of Heaven
A STORY OF HEAVEN.
Before a lowland cottage,
With climbing roses gay,
I stood one summer's eve, to watch
Two children at their play.
All round the garden walks they ran,
Filling the air with glee,
Till they were tired, and sate them down
Beneath an old oak tree.
They were silent for a little space,
And then the boy began:—
"I wonder, sister dear, if I
Shall ever be a man.
"I almost think I never shall,
For often, in my sleep,
I dream that I am dying—
—Nay, sister, do not weep!
"It is a joyful thing to die;
For, though this world is fair,
I see a lovelier in my dreams,
And I fancy I am there.
"I fancy I am taken there
As soon as I have died;
And I roam through all the pleasant place,
With an angel by my side.
"To that bright world I long to go;
I would not linger here,
But for my gentle mother's sake,
And your's, my sister dear!
"And, when I read my book to her,
Or when I play with you,
I quite forget that glorious land,
And the blessed angel too.
"But oft, when I am weary
Of my books and of my play,
Those pleasant dreams come back again,
And steal my heart away.
"And I wish that you, sweet sister
And my mother dear, and I,
Could shut our eyes upon this world,
And, all together, die."
Then spoke his fair-haired sister,
In tones serene and low:—
"Oh, if heaven is such a pleasant place,
Dear brother, let us go!
"Our mother wept when our father died,
Till her bright eyes were dim;
And I know she longs to go to heaven,
That she may be with him.
"So let us all together go!"
—The thoughtful boy replied:—
"Ah, no! we cannot go to heaven,
Until that we have died.
"And sister, we must be content
Upon this earth to stay,
Till the blessed Saviour, Jesus Christ,
Shall call our souls away!"
*****
Before the next year's roses came,
That gentle call was given,
And the mother, and her two sweet babes,
Were, all of them, in heaven.