“A house ... eternal in the heavens” (2 Cor. 5:1).
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 a good long while and weathered many a gale;
I’m therefore not surprised to find it’s getting somewhat frail.
You tell me I am getting old; you mix my house with me;
You’re looking at the outside — that’s all that most folks see;
The dweller in the little house is young and bright and gay,
Just starting on a life that lasts through long, eternal day.
The color changing of the roof, the windows looking dim,
The walls a bit transparent and getting rather thin,
The foundation’s not so steady as once it used to be,
And that is all that you observe, but it’s not really me.
I patch the old house up a bit to make it last the night,
But soon I shall be flitting to my home of endless light;
I’m going to live forever there; my 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;
Eternity lies just ahead — full life and joy and truth;
We will not fret to see this house grow shabby day by day,
But look ahead to our new home which never will decay.
I want to be made fit to dwell in that blest 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 us someday.
My house today is ready in the land beyond the sky;
Its architect and builder is my Saviour now on high;
But I rather think He’s leaving the furnishing to me,
So it’s “treasure up in heaven” I must store each day, you see.
B. C. Harris