"What art thou thinking of," said the mother.
"What art thou thinking of, my child?"
"I am thinking of heaven," he answered her,
And looked up in her face and smiled.

"And what didst thou think of heaven?" she said:
"Tell me, my little one."
"Oh I thought that there the flowers never fade,
That there never sets the sun."

"And wouldst thou love to go thither, my child,
Thither wouldst thou love to go,
And leave the pretty flowers that wither,
And the sun that sets below?"

"Oh I would be glad to go there, mother,
To go and live there now;
And I would pray for thy coming, mother;
My mother wouldst not thou? wouldst not thou?"