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THE BETTER LAND. |
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A beautiful and holy strand,— They call it here the " better land."
This world has treasures for the mind,
Which all may grasp with eager joy,— Pleasures exalted and refined,
Tho' not exempt from all alloy; But there's a world of cloudless bliss, Of deeper, holier happiness, And tho' I here with rapture stand, I long to seek that " better land."
The earth hath many sorrows too,—
Afflictions deep and trials strange,
Tempests of grief and clouds of woe,
Are hovering o'er' this world of change: But there 's a clime unknown to care, Forever cloudless, calm, and fair; Time's gloomy shadows never blend Their darkness in that " better land."
Here we have friends,—but soon they pass,
Helpless and silent, to the grave, Like autumn leaves before the blast,
Like blossoms thrown upon the wave: But there's a clime where spirits live, Where stricken hearts no longer grieve— 0, what a pure and tearless band Await us in that " better land!" |
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