3 Is it far away in some region old, Where the rivers wander o’er sands of gold, And the burning rays of the rubies shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine? And the pearl glows forth from the coral strand, Is it there, sweet mother, that better land? Not there! not there!
4 Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy, Ear hath not heard its sweet song of joy! Dreams can not picture a world so fair, Sorrow and death may not enter there, Time may not breathe on its fadeless bloom, Far beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb! ’Tis there! ’tis there!
1159 9s & 8s. The Father-land.
There is a place where my hopes are stayed, My heart and my treasure are there; Where verdure and blossoms never fade, And fields are eternally fair. CHORUS. That blissful place is my father-land; By faith its delights I explore; Come, favor my flight, angelic band, And waft me in peace to the shore.
2 There is a place where the angels dwell, A pure and peaceful abode; The joys of that place no tongue can tell; For there is the palace of God!
3 There is a place where my friends are gone Who suffered and worshiped with me! Exalted with Christ, high on his throne, The King in his beauty they see.
4 There is a place where I hope to live When life and its labors are o’er, A place which the Lord to me will give, And then I shall sorrow no more.
1160 4s & 10s. The former things are passed away. Rev. 21:4.
No sickness there, No weary wasting of the frame away, No fearful shrinking from the midnight air, No dread of summer’s bright and fervid ray.
2 No hidden grief, No wild and cheerless vision of despair, No vain petition for a swift relief, No tearful eye, no broken hearts are there.
3 Care has no home Within that realm of ceaseless praise and song: Its tossing billows break and melt in foam, Far from the mansions of the spirit-throng.
4 No parted friends O’er mournful recollections have to weep! No bed of death enduring love attends, To watch the coming of a pulseless sleep.
5 No blasted flower Or withered bud celestial gardens grow! No scorching blast or fierce descending shower Scatters destruction like a ruthless foe!
6 No battle-word Startles the sacred host with fear and dread! The song of peace, Creation’s morning heard, Is sung wherever angel-minstrels tread!
7 Let us depart If scenes like these await the weary soul! Look up, thou stricken one! Thy wounded heart, Shall bleed no more at sorrow’s stern control!
8 With faith our guide, White-robed and innocent, to lead the way, Why fear to plunge in Jordan’s rolling tide, And find the ocean of eternal day!
1161 P. M. That beautiful world.
We’re going home, we’ve had visions bright Of that holy land, that world of light, Where the long, dark night of time is past, And the morn of eternity dawns at last; Where the weary saint no more shall roam, But dwell in a happy, peaceful home: Where the brow with sparkling gems is crowned, And the waves of bliss are flowing round. O, that beautiful world! O, that beautiful world!
2 We’re going home, we soon shall be, Where the sky is clear, and all are free: Where the victor’s song floats o’er the plains, And the seraph’s anthems blend with its strains; Where the sun rolls down its brilliant flood, And beams on a world that is fair and good; Where stars, once dimmed at nature’s doom, Will ever shine o’er the new earth’s bloom. O, that beautiful world! O, that beautiful world!
3 ’Mid the ransomed throng, ’mid the seas of bliss, ’Mid the holy city’s gorgeousness; ’Mid the verdant plains, ’mid angels’ cheer, ’Mid the saints that round the throne appear; Where the conqueror’s song, as it sounds afar, Is wafted on the ambrosial air; Through endless years we then shall prove, The worth of a Saviour’s matchless love. O, that beautiful world! O, that beautiful world.
1162 P. M. The sun-bright clime.
Have you heard, have you heard of that sun-bright clime, Undimmed by sorrow, unhurt by time; Where age hath no power o’er the fadeless frame— Where the eye is fire, and the heart is flame— Have you heard of that sun-bright clime?
2 A river of water gushes there, ’Mid flowers of beauty strangely fair, And a thousand wings are hovering o’er The dazzling wave and the golden shore That are seen in that sun-bright clime.
3 Millions of forms, all clothed in white, In garments of beauty, clear and bright, There dwell in their own immortal bowers, ’Mid fadeless hues of countless flowers That bloom in that sun-bright clime.
4 Ear hath not heard, and eye hath not seen, Their swelling songs, and their changeless sheen; Their ensigns are waving, their banners unfurl, O’er jasper walls and gates of pearl, That are fixed in that sun-bright clime.