A DIALOGUE.
Ann.
Tell me, dear Lucy,
Tell me true—
What is that thing
Above, so blue?
Lucy.
My little Ann,
We call it sky—
And there, you know,
God lives, on high.
And it is heaven
Far up above,
Where angels dwell,
In peace and love.
And there, when dead,
Good people go,
To dwell with God,
And angels too.
Ann.
’Tis beautiful!
But, sister dear,
Is it in heaven
As ’tis here?
Are there sweet flowers,
And blossoms fair,
And silver streams,
And fragrant air?
And pretty birds,
And butterflies,—
Are there such things
Beyond the skies?
Lucy.
We cannot tell;
We only know,
’Tis happier there
Than here below.
The sweetest thing
On earth is Love;
That fills each heart
In Heaven above.
These things amid,
The birds and flowers,
The butterflies
In blooming bowers,—
All these are fair,—
And yet more blest
Art thou, dear Ann,
On mother’s breast.
’Tis Love, dear child,
That makes thee so,
And Heaven is Love,—
That’s all we know.
