Come, step through, weary child, a tear clings to your lash,
But brush it off, sweet soul, for trials are now a sash.
These pearly gates unfold, where sunbeams gently gleam,
A symphony of "You made it!" rings, dispelling earthly dreams.
For I see the lines upon your face, etched maps of love and strife,
The battles fought, the victories won, a testament to life.
The scars you wear, like badges earned, each whispers "You made it!"
But fear not, here they fade to stars, that shimmer where angels flit.
Remember how you kept your garment washed without stain.
Remember how you fought hard in prayers.
Remember tears that cleansed the soul and kindness sown like seeds.
Those moments were your stepping stones, on which your spirit was freed.
Each whisper now echoes "You made it!", each prayer a radiant thread.
You walked the path, though thorns it held, with eyes set on the dawn,
You bore the cross, and carried scars, yet never felt forlorn.
For in your heart, a beacon burned, a flicker fierce and bold,
My love, the compass that you followed, to reach this shore of gold.
And now, the wind whispers "You made it!", carried on wings of gold.
Ah yes, tis the rapturable church I call my Love.
Welcome, to these fair lands, where rivers sing with grace,
Where meadows bloom with endless joy, and laughter fills the space.
Unfurl your wings, now feathered light, and dance upon the breeze,
Amongst the spirits bathed in love, forever at your ease.
Let go, and hear the chorus sing "You made it!", let peace fill your soul's deep seas.
No more the ache of yesterday, no sting of what went wrong,
Hope rekindled, embers glow, where futures sing their song.
Laughter leaps through frosty morn, chasing shadows from the land,
Dreams unfurl, like petals burst, in freedom's open hand.
"You made it!" the heavens cry, a symphony of grace,
Blessings wait as you look ahead, with smiles on your face.
Though wounds may sting and armor bend, beneath the weight of strife,
Remember, comrades, our King has led us through this life.
Each scar a badge of battles fought, each tear a prayer of might,
For in the valley's deepest shade, His love remains a guiding light.
Press on, my friend, for dawn awaits beyond the hill,
Where whispers turn to joyous shouts with chorales saying: "You made it!"
Compiled by Caleb Oladejo
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