"Come to the window, mother!
Look out, and you will see
How fast these little clouds sail on,
Above our old elm tree!

"And tell me, dearest mother,
Are these the sheep of heaven,
That in that land are feeding,
From morning until even?

"How soft and white and shining!
Oh! say, dear mother, there
Is everything so gentle,
So lovely and so fair?"

"We cannot see them, darling,
The sheep of heaven, here;
And far more beautiful than this
Does that bright land appear.

"Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor tongue of man can tell
The glories of that home above,
Where all the good shall dwell."