Sweet Angels Carry Me Home

If God should desire the pleasure of my company in His heaven 
Long before I should have grown old ... then He shall have it. 
What fool I to decline such hoped for honor at His royal table 
To sup in the bright radiance of His glorious and eternal majesty.
If God be for me then what circumstance can ever overwhelm me?
His arm is strong, His work is perfect and all His ways are just.
The "Valley of the Shadow of Death' holds its terrors for some, 
But for me it offers promise only of cool shade and quiet respite.
Lord God of all creation, into Your hands do I entrust my spirit.
If I should die before I wake, You Lord,  I know, my soul will take. 
Sweet angels will carry me home to You in Your heavenly abode. 
Death where is your sting? Grave where is your victory? 

Like little slave gods we have struggled in sweat of vain toil,
Building for ourselves mansions of timber, brick, mortar and tile.
Which proclaim to the world the measure of our wealth and  worth,
But yet become costly tombs for our deadened souls and wasted lives.
We acquired garments of this years fashion thrown out for  next 
And for our heads, crowns of gold ... fools gold, for fools heads.
Open your eyes before you fall into the pit of despair and regret 
Of memories of loved ones sacrificed at the altar of false pride.
The pain of loneliness and sadness like a sinister lovers embrace,
Will smother with kisses that suffocate and suck dry the lungs.
Sweet angels, carry me home to my 'heavenly mansion' on high
Where moth and rust and pain of sorrow consume not. 

My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. 
Such sweet peace floods my soul. Shalom! Shalom! Shalom! 
Hail to You the Lord of Lords and the King of Kings
For Your eye is always upon me, nothing escapes Your gaze.
You sustain and strengthen me, You call me by my name.
You make a path for my feet and protect me from harm. 
Your hand crushes those that make themselves my enemy. 
You are mighty and Your strong arm embraces me full about.
The number of my days are known only to You and in You do I trust.
At the appointed hour we will have our heavenly rendezvous.
Sweet angels will carry me home to You in Your eternal Kingdom above.
Death where is your sting? Grave where is your victory?

Alan Drew Morris