My treasure lies on angel’s wings,
Where His presence rests and cherubs sing.
Not where moth and rust destroy,
Or in the arms of a girl or boy.
My treasure lies upon a lamb slain,
In an eternal place where the Son of Man reigns.
Not in a bank stored up where thieves steal,
Or in a lie that appears to be real.
My treasure lies in the Spirit realm,
Who calmed a ship at sea and arrested its helm.
Not in the opinions of those who standby,
Or on the lips of politicians who tell swift lies.
My treasure lies in the will of the one who hung on a tree,
Whose blood was shed to save a wretched soul like me.
Not in broken promises and deceptive cries,
Or in those who would betray me in the blink of an eye.
My treasure lies where my true heart also rests,
In the bosom of the Father who knows His children best.
But in His purpose and His love, my vision is very clear,
Because I’ve got work to do in His name and time is drawing near.