Grandad

 Heaven's mighty sweet, I guess;
Ain't no rush to git there:
Been a sinner, more or less;
Maybe wouldn't fit there.

Wicked still, bound to confess;
Might jest pine a bit there.


Heaven's swell, the preachers say:
Got so used to earth here;
Had such good times all the way,
Frolic, fun and mirth here;
Eighty Springs ago to-day,
Since I had my birth here.


Quite a spell of happy years.

Wish I could begin it;
Cloud and sunshine, laughter, tears,
Livin' every minute.

Women, too, the pretty dears;
Plenty of 'em in it.


Heaven! that's another tale.

Mightn't let me chew there.

Gotta have me pot of ale;
Would I like the brew there?
Maybe I'd get slack and stale -
No more chores to do there.


Here I weed the garden plot,
Scare the crows from pillage;
Simmer in the sun a lot,
Talk about the tillage.

Yarn of battles I have fought,
Greybeard of the village.


Heaven's mighty fine, I know .
 .
 .
 .

Still, it ain't so bad here.

See them maples all aglow;
Starlings seem so glad here:
I'll be mighty peeved to go,
Scrumptious times I've had here.


Lord, I know You'll understand.

With Your Light You'll lead me.

Though I'm not the pious brand,
I'm here when You need me.

Gosh! I know that HEAVEN'S GRAND,
But dang it! God, don't speed me.

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