The Promised Land by Amos E. Flint

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Sep 6, 1910

The Promised Land

By Amos E. Flint

THERE is a land by faith I've seen, Where skies no clouded regions know; Where fields of verdure wave serene, And Sharon's fragrant roses grow.

No shadows fall to blight the view Where realms ambrosial ever bloom; No mourner's tears the eye bedew Where Zion's hills the air perfume.

Life-giving streams there gently flow That never dry through endless time, And on their banks perennial grow The fairest fruit in Eden clime.

That country has a city bright, Whose streets are paved with purest gold; No need of sun to give it light,— Its light the Lamb by sevenfold.

That land no want has ever known, Nor pain nor sickness nor distress; Its dwellers 'neath no burdens groan That anxiously their joys oppress.

Upon that vernal, blissful shore Death, the last enemy, is slain; There those who meet shall part no more, And those long parted meet again.

O glory-flooded home of love, Where toilers, freed from care, are blest! Had I fleet pinion of a dove, I'd quickly fly to thee and rest.

Granger, Wash.