The Better Land

The Better Land
Mrs Hemans
2248

“I hear thee speak of the better land:-
Thou call’st its children a happy band:
Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore?
Shall we not seek It, and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the firefiles dance through the myrtle boughs?”
“Not there, not there, my child!”

“Is it where the feathery palm trees rise
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?
Or ‘midst the green islands of gilttering seas
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?”
“Not there, not there, my child!”

“Is It far away In some region old,
Where the rivers wander o’er sands of gold
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand?
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?”
“Not there, not there, my child!

“Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep sounds of joy:
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair;
Sorrow and death may not enter there:
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
Beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb;
It is there, it is there, my child!”