THE MOUNTAINS OF GLADNESS.
By L. D. Santee
The beautiful mountains of gladness
Shine bright in the sunshine of heaven;
There cometh no shadow of sadness,
And the light of one day is as seven.
Like dew in the sunshine the spray is
That gleams o'er the river of rest,
And the rapturous infinite day is
Made glad by the songs of the blest. No darkness, no death, and no grieving,
Are feared by the dwellers in heaven,
When the “white robes” with joy they're receiving,
When chaplets of glory are given.
They have left all earth's toils and its losses,
And forget the rough way they have trod.
Ah, little they'll think of life's crosses,
When they rest in the kingdom of God. That glad land of beauty is nearing,
'Tis the home of the glorified throng;
No loneliness, heartache, or fearing,
No death, and no shadow of wrong.
As yet, here on earth unbeholden
Is the city, celestial and bright,
Soon its pavements, not gilded, but golden
Will be trod by the children of light. Its dwellers, not dying, but living
Will find from all sorrow release;
They will sing their glad songs of thanksgiving,
As they rest in the kingdom of peace.
They will stand on the mountains of gladness
That gleam in the sunshine of heaven;
They have left every shadow of sadness,
And the light of one day is as seven.