Beautiful land of the spirit set free,
Nearer and dearer than ever to me,
Now, as we're nearing the glad harvest day,
Longing eyes ever keep turning away,
Turning away toward that City of Light,
Where the glorified walk in pure garments of white.
Where never, a sorrow, a blight, nor a care
And naught that defileth may once enter there.
O, jasper walled city, I long to behold
What eye hath not seen nor ear hath been told;
For the cleansing that purifies whiter than snow,
Whatever the trial, dear Lord, I would know.
And when I am fully abiding in Thee,
A glimpse of the beautiful land may I see.
M. M. SOLLARS.