36 Heaven Poems
Reflect on these heavenly poems as you think about that glorious place. Heaven is not a fantasy tale. Heaven is real. A place where there is no more pain, no more tears.
you can't enter into heaven with unforgiven sin and without
true faith in Jesus Christ; these poems reflect this truism.
These inspirational Christian poems are worth reflecting on.
The following Christian poems speak directly about overcoming
sin in your life, and in this world, in order to reach heaven, it is clear that
sin must be eradicated and this only occurs
when one is made righteous through belief in Jesus Christ.
Short Poems / Christian Poems /
Heaven Poems - related: Quotes on Heaven
Popular Short Heaven Poems
Poet: Caleb Davis Bradlee
We shall live again! how true
That all will live once more!
And in a world most grandly new
Will worship and adore.
Life again! yes, with God, the King,
Who takes us from this earth
That he may greater blessings bring
At our eternal birth.
Live again! yes, with Christ, so dear,
Who taught the splendid truth,
And made the fact so very clear,
Of an immortal youth.
Live again! yes, with dear ones gone
So far from mortal sight!
Live where all hearts shall be like one,
Where all is blessed light.
Thanks, God, for this holy peace,
This greatest gift of thine,
That whilst our earthly part must cease,
As angels we shall shine.
Poet: Guy Hootman
When families move long miles away
Parents and children yearn
And sometimes do return
To their familiar scenes of yesterday.
Their faithful dog is well content,
Relaxed in calm repose,
If he can be with those
Who him a little love has lent.
So Christian when you're called above
It will not matter where
You will be happy there
To be with God and Christ and friends you love.
Poet: Daniel C. Colesworthy
And his rest shall be glorious. Isa. 11:10
There is a glorious land afar,
Beyond the brightest burning star,
Where peace interminably reigns;
Where soft and balmy breezes blow,
And golden rivers gently flow,
And gladness smiles o'er all the plains.
No groveling thought, no treacherous smile,
No word unkind, no act of guile,
Will e'er disturb the sacred rest:
On every peaceful brow will shine
A living beauty all divine,
And love pervade the sinless breast.
The ills of life, that hover o'er
Our sunniest path, are felt no more;
The cares of earth, a dismal train,
That follow every step we take,
Will there the happy soul forsake,
And not molest her peace again.
At evening, when I sink to rest,
I dream of heaven, the land so blest,
And list to hear the rapturous song.
glorious land! I would I were
In yon pure clime a worshipper,
Amid the bright and sinless throng!
Poet: Henry Burton
Never a word is said
But it trembles in the air,
And the truant voice has sped
To vibrate everywhere;
And perhaps far off in eternal years
The echo may ring upon our ears.
Never are kind acts done
To wipe the weeping eyes,
But like flashes of the sun
They signal to the skies;
And up above the angels read
How we have helped the sorer need.
Never a day is given,
But it tones the after years,
And it carries up to heaven
Its sunshine or its tears;
While the to-morrows stand and wait, —
The silent mutes by the outer gate.
There is no end to the sky,
And the stars are everywhere,
And time is eternity,
And the here is over there;
For the common deeds of the common day
Are ringing bells in the far away.
Preparing For Heaven
Poet: Greta Zwaan © 2008
The knob on the door to heaven extends to one side alone,
It's a place of great exaltation with God seated on the throne.
No need for a knob on the inside, it's a home where all long to go,
Where great joys are never ending and praises ring to and fro.
The key that lets one enter cannot be bought with gold,
No funds or jewels or empires; this key will not be sold.
No power, prestige or position, not tittles or honour or fame,
It's the wonderful gift of salvation, purchased with love in Christ's name.
It's the sacrifice humans can't offer, no commitment we make can atone;
For sin has tainted our image, it's Jesus whose holy, alone.
And through God's great act of mercy, forgiving our failures and sin,
Can we pass through that door of salvation,
Through Christ we're allowed to come in.
Be assured there's no other entrance, though many have tried on their own,
The efforts of man are all futile, as Scripture so clearly has shown.
The call to the lost is, "Come hither, earthly belongings are vain,"
Rise to the plea that's extended, it may not be offered again.
Many are those who will falter, leaving their fate to the last,
Forgetting that time's of the essence, the dye to their future is cast.
Show God that you are responding, cast aside all your earthly cares,
Prepare for your journey to heaven where all of Christ's blessings you'll share.
We Build The Ladder
Poet: J. G. Holland
Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth, to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit round by round.
I count this thing to be grandly true:
That a noble deed is a step toward God,
Lifting the soul from the common clod
To a purer air and a broader view.
We rise by the things that are under feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.
We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,
When the morning calls us to life and light,
But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night,
Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.
We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,
And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of sensual things,
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.
Wings for the angels, but feet for men!
We may borrow the wings to find the way—
We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray;
But our feet must rise, or we fall again.
Only in dreams is a ladder thrown
From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;
But the dreams depart, and the vision falls,
And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.
Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth, to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit, round by round.
Poet: Greta Zwaan © 2010
I want to be a tool in the hands of the Master,
I want to serve where e'er He desires.
I want to be pliable, ready for action,
Draw others to Him as the Spirit inspires.
I receive blessings, more than abundant,
I have so much to be thankful for;
I want to repay some of God's goodness,
My great Creator whom I adore.
What can I offer? How can I please Him?
What can I bring that will cause Him delight?
He is the owner of all my possessions,
He is the ruler o'er the day and the night.
He has no need of whatever I bring Him,
All of my possessions He already claims.
It's my submission in line with His guidance,
Walking the walk as He constantly trains.
Daily preparing my journey to heaven,
Closely observing the road I must take,
Vigilant, wary, always responding,
Cautiously searching, alert for my sake.
All He desires is my perseverance,
Total submission to what He requests,
Fully subjected to His complete guidance,
My faith will grow strong, I'll be richly blessed.
Oh! If My Weary Soul
by Mary C. Ryan
Oh! if my weary soul this night,
Should quit its mortal frame.
And from this dreary world take flight,
On the fleet wings of time;
To dust my body would return,
They'd say, She sleeps in death;
But ah ! where would my soul he borne
So silently from earth?
Oh! would my soul find rest and peace,
In realms of endless day;
Where all life's woes and storms would cease
Midst joys that ne'er decay?
Or would it sink to that dark shore.
Of pain and misery,
Where hope, bright star, would gleam no more
Through all eternity?
O God! help me to choose the right,
And ever ready be;
So when I see life's darksome night,
'Twill bring no fears for me.
And when my soul is poised to fly
Over the sea of death;
Oh! send bright angels from on high
To bear me from the earth.
Heaven Holds All To Me
Poet: Tillitt S. Teddlie
Earth holds no treasures but perish with using,
However precious they be;
Yet there's a country to which I am going,
Heaven holds all to me.
Out on the hill of that wonderful country,
Happy, contented and free,
Loved ones are waiting and watching my coming,
Heaven holds all to me.
Why should I long for the world and its sorrows,
When in that home o'er the sea,
Millions are singing the wonderful story,
Heaven holds all to me.
Poet: George Eliot
May I reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
An Appeal To The Blind
Poet: Maria J Dodge
Come, all ye afflicted, and listen to me:
With the eyes of faith every one can see;
To the voice of your conscience your ear shall attend,
And the praise of your heart unto Heaven ascend.
Then keep yourselves gentle, pleasant, and neat,
With a smile on your faces, both cheerful and sweet;
The seeds of His Kingdom are in your hearts sown;
Your eyes shall be opened before His Throne.
Ah, then you shall see His glorious face.
When you stand before the throne of grace;
Your lips shall sing praises, sweet and clear,
And your ears the music of Heaven shall hear.
Poet: James Montgomery
If God hath made this world so fair,
Where sin and death abound,
How beautiful beyond compare
Will paradise be found!
Poet: Edwin Markham
There is a high place in the upper air.
So high that all the jarring sounds of Earth —
All cursing and all crying and all mirth —
Melt to one murmur and one music there.
And so perhaps, high over worm and clod,
There is an unimaginable goal,
Where all the wars and discords of the soul
Make one still music to the heart of God.
by C. C. Fraser-Tytler
I sometimes think my Heaven may be
A green place, with an orchard tree,
And one sweet Angel, known to me.
A journey, not a home;
A road, not an abiding place;
A preparation, not an abode of rest.
The joys of the way are but as resting spots on the road,
Where we may be refreshed for the moment
That again we may journey on,
Seeking what is still before us -
The rest that remaineth for the people of God.
Friends That Travelled With Me
Poet: H. M. Reasoner
Many friends that travelled with me
Reached Heaven's portal long ago;
One by one they left me battling
With the dark and crafty foe.
They are watching at the portal,
They are waiting at the door;
Waiting only for my coming -
The beloved ones gone before.
Better Than Gold
Poet: Alex Smart
Better than grandeur, better than gold,
Than rank or titles a hundred-fold,
Is a healthy body, a mind at ease,
And simple pleasures that always please.
A heart that can feel for a neighbor’s woe,
And share his joy with a friendly glow,
With sympathies large enough to infold
All men as brothers, is better than gold.
Better than gold is the sweet repose
Of the sons of toil when their labors close;
Better than gold is the poor man’s sleep,
And the balm that drops on his slumbers deep.
Better than gold is a thinking mind
That in realms of thought and books can find
A treasure surpassing Australian ore,
And live with the great and good of yore.
Better than gold is a peaceful home,
Where all the fireside charities come;
The shrine of love and the haven of life,
Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife.
However humble that home may be,
Or tried with sorrows by Heaven’s decree,
The blessings that never were bought or sold,
And centre there, are better than gold.
Better than gold in affliction’s hour
Is the balm of love with its soothing power;
Better than gold on a dying bed
Is the hand that pillows the sinking head.
When the pride and glory of life decay,
And earth and its vanities fade away,
The prostrate sufferer needs not to be told
That trust in Heaven is better than gold.
The Joy Of Incompleteness
If all our life were one broad glare
Of sunlight, clear, unclouded;
If all our path were smooth and fair,
By no soft gloom enshrouded;
If all life's flowers were fully blown
Without the sweet unfolding,
And happiness were rudely thrown
On hands too weak for holding
Should we not miss the twilight hours,
The gentle haze and sadness?
Should we not long for storms and showers
To break the constant gladness?
If none were sick and none were sad,
What service could we render?
I think if we were always glad,
We scarcely could be tender.
Did our beloved never need
Our patient ministration,
Earth would grow cold and miss indeed
Its sweetest consolation;
If sorrow never claimed our heart,
And every wish were granted,
Patience would die, and hope depart
Life would be disenchanted.
And yet in heaven is no more night,
In heaven is no more sorrow!
Such unimagined new delight
Fresh grace from pain will borrow.
As the poor seed that underground
Seeks its true life above it,
Not knowing what will there be found
When sunbeams kiss and love it,
So we in darkness upward grow,
And look and long for heaven,
But cannot picture it below
Till more of light be given.
The Church Steps
Poet: George T. Foster
Two centuries of steps and then
A field of graves!
With many a sculptured tale of men
Lost in the waves.
You climb and climb, with here and there
A seat for breath,
To find amid the loftier air
A realm of death.
And thus it is with human life
Men toil to rise,
And lo! above the strain and strife
A graveyard lies.
Two centuries of steps, and then
Amid the graves
A holy house that tells to men
Of Him that saves.
O weary men, and women worn,
That there have found
And find bright hints of heavenly morn
On earthly ground!
And so atop the steps of time,
If climbed aright,
Heaven's glad and everlasting clime,
And home of light.
Rest In Heaven
Poet: Emma V. Sweeten
There are no weary hearts in Heaven,
No tired, aching feet
But joys and smiles innumerable,
As saints each other greet.
When in the new Jerusalem,
We'll walk the golden street,
And sing the praises of our Lord,
Or sit at Jesus' feet.
The storms of life which o'er us rise,
And darken all our way,
Will not be felt beyond the skies,
For there 'tis always day.
There in our Father's home above,
The dwelling of the blest,
We'll meet with loved ones 'round the throne,
And there forever rest,
A rest from sin, a rest from toil,
From suffering and pain;
No earthly cares our bliss can mar,
We'll not return again.
Toil on, toil on, ye weary ones,
With grief and sorrow pressed,
'Tis but a little while below,
Then joy and endless rest.
by Canon Farrar
And very soon we shall have made our last stay of all;
the sky will flush with the crimson of its last sunset;
the last long shadows of the twilight will lengthen round us;
the last farewell will be sighed forth from weary lips.
After that our tent will be moved no longer;
for then we hope that it will be pitched, for the last time,
under the walls of the heavenly city,
and the sun shall go down on us no more.
A Sacred Spot
Poet: William Hunter
There is a spot to me more dear
Than native vale or mountain,
A spot for which affection's tear
Springs grateful from its fountain.
'Tis not where kindred souls abound,
Though that is almost heaven;
But where I first my Savior found
And felt my sins forgiven.
Hard was my toil to reach the shore,
Long tossed upon the ocean;
Above me was the thunder's roar,
Beneath the wave's commotion;
Darkly the pall of night was thrown
Around me, faint with terror;
In that dark hour how did my groans
Ascend for years of error!
Fainting and panting as for breath
I knew not help was near me;
I cried, "Oh, save me, Lord, from death!
Immortal Jesus, hear me!"
Then quick as thought I felt him mine;
My Savior stood before me;
I saw his brightness round me shine,
And shouted, "Glory! Glory!"
O sacred hour! O hallowed spot!
Where love divine first found me.
Wherever falls my distant lot,
My heart still lingers round thee;
And when from earth I rise to soar
Up to my home in heaven,
Down will I cast my eyes once more
Where I was first forgiven.
What Is Heaven?
"What is heaven?" I asked a little child;
"All joy!" and in her innocence she smiled.
I asked the aged, with her care oppressed;
"All suffering o'er, oh! heaven, at last, is rest!"
I asked the maiden, meek and tender-eyed;
"It must be love!" she modestly replied.
I asked the artist, who adored his art;
"Heaven is all beauty!" spoke his raptured heart.
I asked the poet, with his soul afire;
"'Tis glory - glory!" and he struck his lyre.
I asked the Christian, waiting her release;
A halo round her, low she murmured, "Peace!"
So all may look with hopeful eyes above;
'Tis beauty glory, joy, rest, peace, and love!
Poet: Georgia C. Elliott
Is it just the hope of heaven
When this troubled life is o'er,
And the thought that there's a mansion
Waiting on the other shore?
Is it just the hope of being
Some day pure and white within,
And that when across the river,
We shall then be free from sin?
Is it just the hope of having
Peace and gladness by and by?
Though on earth are sighs and sorrows,
All is glorious in the sky?
No! the hope I have now gives me
Joy and peace beyond compare,
And my blessed Lord has taken,
All my trials and my care.
Oh! the precious hope we harbor
Is an anchor to the soul;
Never need the heart be troubled,
Though the raging waters roll.
No, we need not cross the river
Ere our dark forebodings cease;
For just now my heart's o'erflowing
With, a stream of perfect peace.
Poet: Maxwell N. Cornelius
Not now, but in the coming years,
It may be in the better land,
We'll read the meaning of our tears,
And there, sometime, we'll understand.
"We'll catch the broken thread again,
And finish what we here began;
Heaven will mysteries explain,
And then, ah, then, we'll understand.
We'll know why clouds instead of sun
Were over many a cherished plan,
Why song has ceased when scarce begun;
'Tis there, sometime, we'll understand.
Why what we long for most of all,
Eludes so oft our eager hand;
Why hopes are crushed and castles fall, -
Up there, sometime, we'll understand.
God knows the way, he holds the key,
He guides us with unerring hand;
Sometime with tearless eyes we'll see;
'Tis, there, up there, we'll understand.
Then, trust in God through all thy days;
Fear not, for he doth hold thy hand;
Though dark thy way, still sing and praise:
Sometime, sometime, we'll understand.
The Promised Land
Poet: Amos E. Flint
There is a land by faith I've seen
Where skies no clouded regions know;
Where fields of verdure wave serene
And Sharon's fragrant roses grow.
No shadows fall to blight the view
Where realms ambrosial ever bloom;
No mourner's tears the eye bedew
Where Zion's hills the air perfume.
Life-giving streams there gently flow
That never dry through endless time.
And on their banks perennial grow
The fairest fruit in Eden clime.
That country has a city bright,
Whose streets are paved with purest gold;
No need of sun to give it light, -
Its light the Lamb by sevenfold.
That land no want has ever known,
Nor pain nor sickness nor distress;
Its dwellers 'neath no burdens groan
That anxiously their joys oppress.
Upon that vernal, blissful shore
Death, the last enemy, is slain;
There those who meet shall part no more,
And those long parted meet again.
O glory-flooded home of love,
Where toilers, freed from care, are blest'
Had I fleet pinions of a dove,
I'd quickly fly to thee and rest.
The Evergreen Mountains Of Life
Poet: James G. Clark
There's a land far away mid the stars, we are told,
Where they know not the sorrows of time;
Where the pure waters wander through valleys of gold
And life is a treasure sublime.
'Tis the land of our God, 'tis the home of the soul,
Where ages of splendor eternally roll,
Where the way- weary traveler reaches the goal
On the evergreen mountains of life.
Our gaze can not soar to that heavenly land,
But our visions have told of its bliss;
And our souls by the breeze from its gardens are fanned,
When we faint in the deserts of this;
And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose,
When our spirits are torn with temptations and woes;
And we've drunk from the tide of the river that flows
From the evergreen mountains of life.
Oh, the stars never tread the blue heavens
But we think where the ransomed have trod,
And the day never smiles from its palace of light
But we feel the bright smile of our God.
We are traveling homeward through changes and gloom
To a kingdom where pleasures unchangingly bloom,
And our guide is the glory that shines through the tomb
From the evergreen mountains of life
The Heavenly City
Poet: Belle Staples
By faith I look beyond the skies
And catch a glimpse of paradise;
I see the city, bright and fair,
With jasper walls and jewels rare,
With pearly gates and streets of gold;
Its glory never can be told.
It needeth not the sun's clear light;
'Tis always day, there is no night;
The Lamb of God, the spotless One,
Doth take the place of moon and sun;
His glory fills that holy place;
His loved ones see him face to face.
The nations of the saved are there.
Without a sorrow, pain, or care;
God lives and moves among his own;
They bow in rapture at his throne;
He brushes all their tears away;
Oh, rapturous hour! Oh, glorious day!
By faith I see the mansions fair,
The fadeless crowns the faithful wear,
The living fountains sparkling bright.
The saints and angels clothed in white.
My soul enraptured longs to rise
And join the hosts of paradise.
While gazing- at that happy throng,
I catch a strain of the glad, new song -
"Unto him that washed us in his blood
And hath made us kings and priests to God,
To him be glory, honor, praise
Throughout eternal, endless days."
Oh, how the heavenly arches ring
With the song the angels can not sing!
They fold their wings and long to see
Into the marvelous mystery
Of sinners washed in Jesus' blood -
Redeemed from sin, brought back to God.
Joys Of Heaven
Poet: Nancy W. Priest
Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies,
Beyond Death's cloudy portal,
There is a land where beauty never dies
And love becomes immortal;
A land whose light is never dimmed by shade,
Whose fields are ever vernal,
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade,
But blooms for aye eternal.
We may not know how sweet its balmy air,
How bright and fair its flowers;
We may not hear the songs that echo there,
Through those enchanted bowers;
The city's shining towers we may not see
With our dim earthly vision,
For death, the silent warder, keeps the key
That open those gates elysian;
But sometimes, where adown the western sky
The fiery sunset lingers,
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly,
Unlocked by silent fingers;
And while they stand a moment half ajar,
Gleams from the inner glory
Stream lightly through the azure vault afar,
And half reveal the story.
Oh, land unknown! Oh, land of love divine!
Father all-wise, eternal,
Guide, guide, these wandering, way-worn feet of mine
Unto those pastures vernal.
No Night Shall Be In Heaven
No night shall be in heaven; no gathering gloom
Shall o'er that glorious landscape ever come;
No tears shall fall in sadness o'er those flowers
That breathe their fragrance through celestial bowers.
No night shall be in heaven: forbid to sleep,
These eyes no more their mournful vigils keep;
Their fountains dried, their tears all wiped away,
They gaze undazzled on eternal day.
No night shall be in heaven, no sorrow reign,
No secret anguish, no corporeal pain,
No shivering limbs, no burning fever there,
No soul's eclipse, no winter of despair.
No night shall be in heaven, but endless noon;
No fast-declining sun, no waning moon;
But there the Lamb shall yield perpetual light
Mid pastures green and waters ever bright.
No night shall be in heaven. Oh, had I faith,
To rest in what the faithful witness salth,
That faith should make these hideous phantoms flee,
And leave no night henceforth on earth to me!
A Sunset Thought Of Heaven
Poet: M. J. E. Crawford
If brighter than that gorgeous cloud
The golden gates of heaven shine,
Scarce could I shrink from Death's pale shroud
Or dread his cold lips pressed to mine,
So I might soar away to see
The home of rest prepared for me.
Far sweeter than the richest notes
On earth to cheer our spirits given,
Must be the ceaseless hymn which floats
From angels' golden harps in heaven;
And who would wish to linger long
From that blessed land of holy song?
Far stronger than the dearest ties
Which hold our yearning hearts below
Is that pure love which bids us rise
The perfect will of God to know;
And can the soul contented rest
Away from him who loves us best?
We Shall Know Each Other There
When the evening shadows gather
And the long day's work is done;
When we reach that unknown country,
Out beyond the setting sun;
After all the weary waiting,
In their peaceful rest to share,
No more need of anguished parting, -
We shall know each other there.
Cherished forms who walked beside us
Down the long eventful years -
How we watched them as they vanished.
Through a mist of falling tears!
Loving voices hushed in silence
Joining with the angel band,
Singing their triumphant anthems
Over in the Beulah land.
But some day if we may enter
Through the pearly portals wide,
They will be the first to meet us,
Over on the other side.
Safe within our Father's mansion,
Clad in robes all white and fair,
Chanting sweet a joyous welcome,
We shall know each other there.
All the way they've walked beside us.
Ever near, although unseen,
Hidden from our blinded vision
By the veil that fell between;
All the while familiar voices
Whispered words of hope and cheer,
But life's battles raged so fiercely
That our ears were dull to hear.
Hush, then, each rebellious murmur,
For we too are going home -
Going to find our household treasures,
When these tired feet cease to roam;
On the resurrection morning,
Free from pain and free from care,
With our tear-dimmed eyes made perfect,
We shall know each other there.
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