I love to think of Heaven,
As a country fair and bright,
Its inhabitants are radiant,
In robes of spotless white;
I love to sketch its beauties,
As far as I can trace,
Its smiles of rapture beaming
On every joy-lit face.
But oh, it seems more beautiful
To those who weary roam,
To contemplate the happy thought
That heaven is a home.

The homes of earth are beautiful,
When sanctified by grace,
But that one will be brighter still
Before our Father's face.
There will be no more crying,
No sighing, no care care,
No fading of the blooming cheek,
That oft awakes our fear.
No vacant seats, no sorrow,
No trial will be there,
A home with all its pleasures,
A home without a care.

I love to think of Heaven
As a place of glory bright,
Its jewelled walls are brilliant,
With floods of living light.
The living crowns all shining
On brows that know no care,
Its thrilling music streaming
From every harp-string there;
But oh, methinks that o'er the thought
A matchless charm is thrown,
That binds in beauty round the heart,
That Heaven is a home!

Author Unknown.

Signs of the Times
Volume 27, Number 22; November 15, 1859

Below are the songs that were made from the poem using AI. They are identified
by the genre of the music in paranthesis.