p. 212 | Untitled article by M. J. Cottrell

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Third-day, March 17, 1868

FromReview and Herald, Vol. XXXI, No. 14

THE BETTER COUNTRY.

By M. J. Cottrell

[BRO. SMITH: The following beautiful poem I found several years ago, among some old papers bearing no credit “except ‘selected.’” I have never seen it in print, and never yet found any one who could give me any information in regard to its origin or author. Thinking it worthy a place in our excellent paper, I place a copy at your disposal. M. J. COTTRELL.]

Where is the better country, Where? Ye who have found it, lead me there; I long have sought a happy home, Yet weary, weary still I roam. I've tried by turn each pathway bright, My sun goes down, and all is night. I grope my way in sad despair, Where is the better country, where?

I catch at every beaming ray That shines upon my weary way; I'm taken captive by a flower That blooms and withers in an hour; And yet, whene'er my bosom tries To shield a flower, there it dies; Away the withered thing I throw, And sadly on my way I go.

An infant in its cradle smiled, Its look of joy my heart beguiled, But when I gazed a moment more, Its joyous brow was clouded o'er; Then sick at heart I heaved a sigh, And turned away my tearful eye;— How vain the search for pleasures here, With every smile there comes a tear.

I saw a shining, beauteous thing, It hung before me glittering, They called it friendship; and with joy My hand I stretched to seize the toy, It proved to be a gilded dart, Which e'er I knew, it pierced my heart; Then faint and bleeding, thus I thought Experience must be dearly bought.

I saw the star-bespangled sky, And then I fixed my earnest eye, One star grew brighter to my gaze, For me it seemed to shed its rays: I thought if I could soar afar, I'd hie me to that lonely star,— Ah me! 'twas but a meteor bright, It fled away—that star so bright.

As carelessly I moved along, I heard a soft delightful song; I turned aside to catch the sound, But no sweet songster could be found. It was my own canary bird, Whose faint receding notes I heard, He breathed farewell in every tone, The cage was there,—the bird had flown.

A beauteous, meek-eyed carrier dove Came flying with the speed of love, I caught and kissed him o'er and o'er; I knew the bird a letter bore; I broke the seal with eager hand, For tidings from a distant land, But oh! I shuddered while I read, It told me one I loved was dead.

The falling of a far cascade Most sweet, harmonious music made, It charmed me oft at even tide, And once by moonlight there I hied; But when I reached the chosen spot The tender music pleased me not. 'Tis thus with many things I meet; They're only at a distance sweet.

Long, long ago I left my home, For many a year 't was mine to roam; And when at last I there returned, Oh! how my heart within me burned; But every thing I saw was changed, And from my home I felt estranged; And then I cried in deep despair, Where is the better country, where?

Oh! he whose heart is fixed below Finds disappointment, change and woe. Where are the never-clouded skies? Oh! where the joy that never dies? Where is the music ever sweet? Oh! where the friends I long to greet? No more earth's changing scenes allure; Where is the land all bright and pure?

The land where all is pure and bright, That better land is out of sight;

And I must journey here awhile And see by turns the tear, the smile, Yet even now 'tis bliss to me That I one day that land shall see, And joyful wing my eager flight To that sweet country, out of sight.