The Beautiful Land

There's a Beautiful Land, by the spoiler uutrod,
     Unpolluted by sorrow or care; 
It is lighted alone by the presence of God,
     Whose throne and whose temple are there: 
Its crystalline streams, with a murmurous flow,
     Meander through valleys of green, 
And its mountains of jasper are bright in the glow
     Of a splendor no mortal hath seen.

And throngs of glad singers, with jubilant breath.
     Make the air with their melodies rife; 
And one known on earth as the Angel of Death.
     Shines there as the Angel of Life! 
An infinite tenderness beams from his eyes,
     On his brow is an infinite calm; 
And his voice, as it thrills through the depths of the skies,
     Is as sweet as the seraphim's psalm.

Through the amaranth-groves of the Beautiful Land 
     Walk the souls who were faithful in this;
And their foreheads, star-crowned, by the breezes are fanned, 
     That evermore murmur of bliss.
They taste the rich fruitage that hangs from the trees,
     And breathe the sweet odors of flowers, 
More fragrant than ever were kissed by the breeze
     In Araby's loveliest bowers.

Old prophets, whose words were a spirit of flame,
     Blazing out o'er the darkness of time; 
And martyrs, whose courage no torture could tame,
     Nor turn from their purpose sublime; 
And saints and confessors, a numberless throng,
     Who were loyal to truth and to right, 
And left, as they walked through the darkness of wrong,
     Their footprints encircled with light;

And the dear little children, who went to their rest 
     Ere their lives had been sullied by sin,
While the Angel of Morning still tarried, a guest, 
     Their spirits' pure temple within —
All are there — all are there — in the Beautiful Land, 
     The land by the spoiler untrod,
And their foreheads, star-crowned, by the breezes are fanned
     That blow from the Gardens of God!

My soul bath looked in, through the gateway of dreams,
     On the city all paven with gold, 
And heard the sweet flow of its murmurous streams
     As through the green valleys they rolled; 
And though it still waits on this desolate strand,
     A pilgrim and stranger on earth, 
Yet it knew, in that glimpse of the Beautiful Land,
     That it gazed on the home of its birth!