"Know ye the land where the cyrpress and myrtle," &c.
Know ye the land where the fountain is springing,
Whose waters give life, and whose flow never ends;
Where cherub and seraph, in concert, are singing
The hymn that in odour and incense ascends?
Know ye the land where the sun cannot shine,
Where his light would be darken'd by glory divine;
Where the fields are all fair, and the flowret's young bloom
Never fades, while with sweetness each breath they perfume;
Where sighs are ne'er heard, and where tears are ne'er shed
From hearts that might elsewhere have broken, and bled;
Where grief is unfelt, where its name is unknown,
Where the music of gladness is heard in each tone;
Where melody vibrates from harps of pure gold,
Far brighter than mortal's weak eye can behold;
Where the harpers are robed in a mantle of light,
More dazzling than diamonds, than silver more white;
Where rays from a rainbow of emerald beam,
Where truth is no name, and where bliss is no dream?—
Tis the seat of our God! 'tis the land of the blest—
The kingdom of glory—the region of rest—
The boon that to man shall hereafter be given— '
Tis Love's hallowed empire—'tis Heaven ! 'tis Heaven!