p. 582 | The Land of Life by L. D. SANTEE

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Sep 21, 1915

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 42, No. 37.

The Land of Life

By L. D. SANTEE

The hills give their streams to the ocean, The billows roll in from the sea; And my soul, with a tender emotion, Muses oft on the glories to be. And like those bright streams in their welling, Or the waves that wash sands on the beach, There's a joy in my heart beyond telling, Beyond language or speech.

Though I walk in the pathways of danger, I shall rest in the garden of God. I shall feel there at home, not a stranger, Where the footsteps of sin never trod; Where the sweet face of youth ne'er grows older, And the flowers of heaven never fall; Where the warm hearts of friends ne'er grow colder, But love governs all.

How many the families severed, To meet upon earth not again! But, nearing the glorious forever, There's a recompense sweet for all pain. Let us help, let us pray for each other, In this world of temptation and sin, That the children, and father and mother, Be all gathered in.

I think of the promises gracious, That, free from the thralldom of wrong, Is a land that's eternal and spacious, Reserved for the glorified throng; And like the bright streams in their welling, Or the waves that strew sands on the beach, There's a joy in my heart beyond telling, Beyond music or speech.