Classic Poem

There is a land of promise,
Which drinks the rain of heaven
By everlasting charter
To Zion's pilgrims given;
Where Lebanon aud Hermon
Their blessings shower below,
And hills and rocks and valleys
With milk and honey flow.

Joy for its purple vintage!
Joy for its golden sheaves!
No alien heart or stranger
Its wealth of love conceives;
But travellers to glory
May walk therein at will,
And with its flowers and fruitage
Their longing souls fulfil.

There is a feast of gladness
By Royal bounty spread,
The new wine of the kingdom,
The true and living Bread.
And whoso thirsts and hungers
Is there a bidden guest;
There grief forgets her weeping,
The weary are at rest.

There is a harp of music,
By God's own fingers strung,
With sweeter songs enwoven
Than flow from angel's tongue;
And all who mourn may listen
To those soft healing strains,
Until the heavenly harpings
Have chased their bosom's pains.

There is a blessèd vision,
God's own apocalypse,
Whose far-off joys and splendours
All dreams of man eclipse:
Jerusalem the holy
Lit from the sapphire Throne,
Its pearls and gold and crystal,
Faith claims them for her own.

That fatherland of promise,
That banquet of delight,
That more than mortal music,
That vision infinite,—
What are they but the dowry
God to His Church has given
In giving her as heir-loom
The oracles of heaven?

Man, like the grass of morning,
Droops ere the evening hour;
His goodliness and beauty
Fade as a fading flower:
But who may shake the pillars
Of God's unchanging word?
Amen: Himself hath spoken;
Amen: thus saith the Lord.

Death's shadows fall around us,
Our path with storms is rife:
O God, vouchsafe Thy servants
To grasp the word of life;
Until the Life Eternal,
The Life and Light of men,
With clouds of glory mantled
Returns to earth again.