The City Elysian

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jan 9, 1908

PAST the setting of suns stands the city Elysian, Unrevealed save to spirits anointed and free, Which the chosen behold as a glorified vision In splendor unveiled by the crystalline sea,— The clear, azure sea,—the wide-flashing sea,— The wonderful, odorous, music-toned sea,— That flows round the shores of the country of God, Which only the feet of his freemen have trod.

Its walls stand superb in the sunshine eternal; Round its turrets in ether the cloud-billows curl; Not a fair stone is stained with a shadow diurnal; And each massy gate is a portal of pearl,— One lustrous great pearl,—a bewildering pearl,— A glorious, fathomless, mystical pearl,— That haunts me and taunts me with far-off delight, In visions of day-tide and dreams of the night.

I dream of it often when sickness and sorrow Pass over my spirit and scourge as a rod, And fill me with longings for some glad to-morrow,— Some glimpse of that city whose builder is God,— Whose founder is God,—whose maker is God,— Where the blest reign forever and ever with God; And then how it seems to grow nearer—so near That the strains of its music break low on my ear.

And then as its splendors are spread out before me, Enchanting my senses, alluring my soul, What billows of rapture roll o’er me and o’er me, Till earth and its troubles from under me roll;— Beneath me they roll,—far away from me roll,— As distant as east from the west is their roll;— And I seem like a child on the warm, loving breast Of a mother who soothes it and lulls it to rest.

Shall we see it?—Ah, yes! for us it was builded,— For us its foundations were measured of old,— For us were its turrets of ivory gilded, Its battlements burnished with silver and gold,— With virginal gold,—with yellow bright gold, And metals more precious than silver and gold,— For us it is waiting who wearily roam As aliens afar from our country and home.

How often, God help us! far from it we wander, Our bruised feet marking the way with our blood; Of the joys of this life growing fonder and fonder As if over yonder no proud city stood,— No bright city stood,—no light city stood,— No royalest, comeliest, white city stood,— While we who are heirs by a kinship divine Are content with the huts and the husks of the swine.

—Springfield Republican.