'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,
Neither have entered into the heart of man,
The things which God hath prepared for them
That love Him. (1 Cor. 2.9.)

I looked out unto the sky
And saw the moon, full and beckoning.
I thought of my child far beyond its glory,
Yet felt no peace.
I cried "Come Home."

No mystic thing could heal my pain,
I wanted to hear her call my name;
All the glory of the sky
Was not enough to stop my cry,
"Come Home, Come Home."

And as I wept the sky changed form,
A cloud took shape where the moon was born,
And just as my spirit so dark forlorn
The sky appeared all earth to mourn.

Why do you cry such words of dread
Calling loved ones from the dead?
They live in their death eternal life,
Blessed forever in His Light.

Come Home, Come Home, is Heaven's call,
A place prepared there for us all;
He is the Shepherd who leads the way
'Come Home, Come Home' your loved ones pray.
                           © Helen Catherine Cramer
                        19th January 1984

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