THIS world is beautiful, 'tis true,
But there's a brighter world than this
Beyond that dome of wavey blue,
A home of everlasting bliss ;
That Spirit Land, whose canopy
Is never sullied with a cloud ;
Where clad in spotless drapery,
Saints are in adoration bow'd;
A myriad band of vestals raise
Their voices in Jehovah's praise.
There, purling streams and shady bowers,
With fields of amaranthine hue,
And beds of bright ambrosial flowers
Impearled with heavenly dew
On every hand, to please the eye,
Are spread in loveliness and there,
Than those of sultry Araby,
The breezes richer perfumes bear ;
There, too, such melody heard
As never mortal's bosom stirred.
