With no sprays of living beauty
To droop o'er the streets of gold,
With no gardens to blossom forever
Untouched by earth's blight and mold?
To droop o'er the streets of gold,
With no gardens to blossom forever
Untouched by earth's blight and mold?
Ah! there will be flowers in heaven
In those realms of immortal bloom,
But never as here shall they wither
On a desolate, darkened tomb;
We know not their forms or their fragrance,
We know not their changeless years
But we know they shall outshine the blossoms
That gladden this vale of tears.
In those realms of immortal bloom,
But never as here shall they wither
On a desolate, darkened tomb;
We know not their forms or their fragrance,
We know not their changeless years
But we know they shall outshine the blossoms
That gladden this vale of tears.
Our beautiful earth-born blossoms!!
Can imagination weave?
Can mind in its silent chambers
One missing charm conceive,
That lost in their earthly glory
Might spring from a holier sod
And sprinkle with sweeter incense
The glorious courts of God?
Can imagination weave?
Can mind in its silent chambers
One missing charm conceive,
That lost in their earthly glory
Might spring from a holier sod
And sprinkle with sweeter incense
The glorious courts of God?
No; to our limited vision
They are fair as a seraph's song,
One of the relics of Eden
That still to our earth belong.
We love them, oh, who would chide us
For loving the few bright things
That have not grown tired of our cold bleak world
And flown on their soul-like wings!
They are fair as a seraph's song,
One of the relics of Eden
That still to our earth belong.
We love them, oh, who would chide us
For loving the few bright things
That have not grown tired of our cold bleak world
And flown on their soul-like wings!
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