FROM PARADISE TO PARADISE.
By Harry Armstrong
O Paradise fair, what a bright home of pleasure
Thou wert when thy smile met the smile of thy God;
Thou wert to thine Author a well-chosen treasure,
When only thy walks by the sinless were trod. Thy sweet, balmy air, filled with fragrance of flowers,
The richest of music from birds in thy trees,
Was wafted along ’neath thy cool, shady bowers,
In harmony sweet by the song of the breeze. The pure, living water which through thee was flowing,
Whose murmurings sounded like whispers of prayer,
Did sparkle like crystal, reflecting and showing
An image of beauty and excellence rare. How free were the songs that in sweet adoration
Rose high from the hearts filled with love most divine!
How solemn and grand was the sweet meditation,
When Creator and creature conversed at thy shrine! How countless the blessings then man was enjoying,
While pruning thy increase with tenderest care!
How sweet were the labors his moments employing,
Amid such fair glories and sweet, balmy air! And yet in the youth of his pleasure and glory,
We read how the tempter beguiled him to lie;
How sad were thy changes, how sad is the story!
Since then all thy glories have lived but to die. ’Tis discord not music, ’tis weeping not gladness,
’Tis fading not blooming, ’tis evening not morn.
For peace like a river, ’tis anguish and sadness;
For choice, fragrant flowers, ’tis brier and thorn. And yet, in the midst of this sad desolation,
The bright Star of morning holds up to our view
A promise of love—’tis thy full restoration;
He says he’ll create all thy glories anew. O Paradise fair, what a bright home of pleasure
Thou’lt be when thy smile meets the smile of thy God!
Thou’lt be to thine Author a well-chosen treasure,
When only thy walks by the sinless are trod. How free, then, the songs that in sweet adoration
Will rise from the hearts filled with love most divine!
How solemn and grand then the sweet meditation,
When Creator and creature commune at thy shrine!