Come Home It's Supper Time

I wish that my mother could have lived to see the publication of my poetry.  I think she would have liked that.  She was called home to rest in the joy of the Lord in heaven and we know she is not alone.  I remember playing outside as darkness fell and suppertime drew near.  Mom was a good cook and the tantalizing aromas of roast beef and gravy and apple pie brought gladness to my little heart.  She was a good Mom.  I thank the Lord for parents who taught me right from wrong.

            This piece of poetry is not one of mine, but it is something I might have written and speaks very closely to my heart.  It expresses just the way I feel about going home to heaven at the end of "day" when our life is finally complete and the Lord calls us Home.  I can imagine the day when our Mom and Dad draw near to help us find the light, and they guide us with the Love of the Lord to find our way along the tunnel towards the Peace that passes all earthly understanding.  Just like Mom calling us in for supper.

Supper Time

Many years ago in days of childhood I used to play

'Til evening shadows come,

Then winding down an old familiar pathway I heard

My mother call at set of sun.

Come home, come home it's supper time,

The shadows lengthen fast;

Come home, come home it's supper time;

We're going home at last.

One day beside her bedside I was kneeling,

And angel wings were winnowing the air;

She heard the call for Supper Time in heaven,

And now I know she's waiting for me there.

Come home, come home it's supper time,

The shadows lengthen fast;

Come home, come home it's supper time;

We're going home at last.

In visions now I see her standing yonder,

And her familiar voice I hear once more;

The banquet table's ready up in heaven,

It's supper time upon the golden shore.

Come home, come home it's supper time,

The shadows lengthen fast;

Come home, come home it's supper time,

We're going home at last.

(Copyright 1950 by Singspiration, Inc.)