Tony, in this land eternal,
What is written in your journal?
Are there stories written there,
Of sights you’ve seen beyond compare?
Recall Assissi, over there,
The land of Francis, and of Clare.
How love so simple was so blest,
It raised them high above the rest.
And in the church of old St. Paul,
The one, you know, outside the wall,
The portraits of the popes of time,
Unbroken apostolic line.
Mary Major was for me,
An awesome sight for eyes to see.
Before me there in deepest sway,
The manger where the baby lay.
Basilica of Lateran,
I’ve heard about time and again.
But never knew it held the skulls,
Of great St. Peter, and St. Paul.
Pieta, it was for me,
An overwhelming work of beauty.
And you can tell your friends back home,
How at St. Pete’s, you climbed the dome.
The labyrinth of catacombs,
The early martyr’s final homes.
Provide a somber resting place
To fill the pilgrim’s soul with grace.
How humble Pio loved the Lord,
And pointed many others toward,
A life of service filled with grace,
To win from Jesus sweet embrace.
Whatever you have written there
Will bring you memories to spare,
And if some day you’re feeling low,
You’ll have a lovely place to go.