Promised Land

Please, Papa, tell us again …

Where should I begin?

Well, your Papa was a simple man

Who came to this promised land

Where people sounded funny

At least they did to me

To tell the truth

I was a little nervous

I found it hard to make eye contact

As in the old country

We lowered our heads

When walking past

The armed guards

What else, Papa?

When I first heard

Of this promised land

I begged to be let in

Saying I own two working hands

They're enough to begin again

In this, your Dar al-Salam

Papa, what do you remember most?

I recall when I arrived

I watched for the signs

To tell me I was home

I promised this promised land

Not to ask for a handout

But to welcome each helping hand

When I first heard

Of this promised land

I begged to be let in

Saying I own two working hands

They're enough to begin again

In this, your promised land

I carried such a deep longing

To leave tyranny behind

To savour freedom

I trusted the one above had a plan

To bring Papa to this promised land

Oh, Papa, say it again

When I first heard

Of this promised land

I begged to be let in

Saying I own two working hands

They're enough to begin again

In this, your Goshen

Yes, two working hands

They're enough to begin again

In this promised land

Thank you, Papa

For trusting the plan

So, we could be born

In this promised land

Please, Papa, tell us again …

Where should I begin?

Well, your Papa was a simple man

© 2023, 2026 John Osinga. All rights reserved. St. Thomas, Ontario, Canada.

I've been thinking lately about how much of the human story gets left out when a writer only speaks from one tradition. Where does sensitivity begin but in oneself, in reflection of what is important.

Initially, I wrote this lyric from one perspective of one single "promised land" and realized it was too narrow in scope, so I wanted it to be more encompassing.

So I revised Promised Land so that the longing for a better life belongs to everyone who has ever crossed a border, carrying nothing but hope and two working hands.

I wrote this hope into the chorus to shine the light on three different sacred spaces.

Dar al-Salam,

The Promised Land,

And Goshen

Each has a home and a term from a different faith, but all wish to live in a better place.

John Osinga