Heaven’s a place that’s unseen yet real,
That shines like the sun with a glorious appeal.
The saints above, worship our King,
Who’s Savior of all, and made everything.
Some leave us below, to worship on high,
But it is okay, even though they did die.
The ones, who remain, must spread the good news,
Through every small village, and cities so huge.
The task will be finished, and we’ll sing on high,
And leave this old earth, to soar to the sky.
We’ll meet all the saints, and those been redeemed,
And worship in heav’n, our Lord, Christ the King
Joseph (12) wrote this poem yesterday. He helped me scan it onto the computer so we could share it.