Treasure Up in Heaven
You tell me I am getting old, but that’s not really so.
The house I live in may be worn, and that of course I know.
It’s been in use for quite a while, weathered by wind and hail.
I’m therefore not surprised to find it’s getting somewhat frail!
You tell me I am getting old, you mix the house with me.
You’re looking at the outside, that’s all that you can see.
The dweller in this shaky house is young and bright and free;
Just starting on a life that lasts for all eternity.
The colour’s changing on the roof, the window’s looking dim,
The wall’s a bit transparent and is getting rather thin.
The foundation’s not as steady, as once it used to be;
But that is all that you observe, and really that’s not me!
I patch the old house up a bit, to make it last the night,
But soon I shall be leaving for my home of endless light:
I’m going to live forever there, for life goes on—it’s grand!
How can you say I’m getting old? You do not understand!
These few short years can’t make me old. I feel I’m in my youth:
Eternal life is mine right now, and thats the solid truth!
I will not fret to see this house grow shabby day by day,
But look ahead to my New Home which never will decay.
I want to be found worthy for my Father’s house above;
Cleansed in the precious Blood of Christ and growing still in love.
The beauty of that glorious home no words can ever say.
‘Tis hidden from these mortal eyes, but kept for me some day.
My house is getting ready in a place beyond the sky.
Its Architect and Builder is my Saviour now on high:
But He’s told me that He’s leaving all the furnishing to me,
So it’s ‘treasure up in heaven’ that I’m storing—don’t you see?
Mr L. A. T. Van Dooran