I hear you will picnic on banks of beauty running free,
eat the fruit of life until juices run down your chin,
fingertips sticky with eternity ~
aftertaste only joy.
I hear you’ll sit beneath trees ever in harvest of healing;
gentle hands will lift your head, wipe the tears from your eyes.
Clothed in garments threaded through with praise ~
your holy, holy, holy echoes,
His love the answering refrain.
I hear there are stones no one has ever seen;
one will bear your name ~
skip it into the sky, luminous with glory.
All these stars home-fires of hope,
illuminate this darkness with grace.
I hear their steady harmony
bright between now and the dawn ~
on the other side of time (not impassable for long)
your voice joins in ~
I hear there is never a last song.