Come On Home

 

On a cold winters day

When George was laid to rest;

To lay a tired and weary head

Upon the Savior’s breast.

 

All those whom he’d left behind

Did weep and sorrowful mourn;

But George, he stood rejoicing

For he had heard the horn.

 

The Savior, He had called him

And His voice George did hear;

Jesus beckoned, “Come on home, son”

And George, he drew near.

 

The streets of gold, they walked awhile

Then drank from a living water stream;

And George proclaimed, “Why, Lord,

It’s more than I had dreamed”.

 

The mansion Jesus pointed to

Was lined on either side;

With pearls, emeralds and diamonds

The door was open wide.

 

George’s grin, it did widen

As he slowly stepped inside;

He said, “This is mine, Lord?”

And Jesus said, “Abide”.

 

 

 

Shirl Lacey Nevins