Song of a Saint

In the morning's dew, I'll say a prayer to You
And look upon the celestial moon
Which, like a silver cloud hanging in the sky
Says to me the stars are, this perfect day, aligned.

I'll do my day's task, wipe the sweat off my brow,
And do it this day to make my Papa proud.
Yet, I know one day all labor shall cease
And I shall sit by my LORD at His supper feast

And I shall have my mansion's stones
Of Agate, Sapphire, Beryl and gold
With Mount Zion's tremendous peak
And golden crest with silvercapped streaks.

I shall walk down the country roads,
To where Zion's spires and towers rose
Twelve Thousand Furlongs in awesome height,
To the distance of that moonlit sight.

That silver cloud, it hangs, I'm told
A Crescent moon one day old
To tell me the year and season
So I am not lost by Satan's Treason.

For by this I know the stars don't lie
And I am in God's season and time.
Oh, on Zion I preciously wait
To see that pearly, opalescent gate.