Some would gather money
Along the path of life;
Some would gather roses
And rest from worldly strife.

But I would gather children
From among the thorns of sin;
I would seek a golden curl
And a freckled, toothless grin.

For money cannot enter
In that land of endless day,
And the roses that are gathered
Soon will wilt along the way.

But, oh, the laughing children,
As I cross the Sunset Sea;
As the gates swing wide to Heaven,
I can take them in with me!