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My Jesus said that he would go
And make a place for me.
I often spend time wondering
Just what that place might be.
Some Bibles say it is a room,
Which would be very nice.
A mansion, is what others say,
On which there is no price.
Homes, dwelling places, and abodes,
Of each of these I’ve read.
There is a lot of room for me,
Is what my Savior said.
It really matters not, the size,
It’s just that I am there.
Securely in my Father‘s arms,
Safe from the world’s despair.
Yes, Jesus has prepared a place,
Especially for me.
He knows just what it is I like,
I cannot wait to see.
Will I be on the mountain top,
With pristine lakes and streams?
Will shimmering sapphire blues appear
More radiant than my dreams?
Or will the seashore be my home?
The crashing waves resound.
I hear the ocean’s thunderous roar,
On heavenly rocks it pounds.
The desert must not be the place,
God does not make mistakes.
He knows how petrified I am
Of hissing, slithering snakes.
I might be by a music hall,
Oh, that would be so grand.
To hear angelic symphonies
Played by the Maestro’s band.
My Jesus said that he would go
And make a place for me.
I often spend time wondering
Just what that place might be.
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