p. 1 | THE GLORY OF HEAVEN by Annie R. Smith

Publishing Committee · Rochester, N. Y. · Mar 7, 1854

THE GLORY OF HEAVEN.

By Annie R. Smith

BY ANNIE R. SMITH.

BEYOND this shadowy vale of tears There is a better land, Where all the good of earth at last Shall reign—a tearless band. What most with rapture fills my soul, Of all its glories rare, And bids me long to go and dwell Within its mansions fair?

Is it that round the fadeless brows, The starry crowns entwine? In robes of pure and dazzling white, The forms of beauty shine? That we shall tune the golden lyres, O'er the celestial plains, Where notes of sorrow never blend With those sweet, seraph strains?

Is it that darkness never clouds That bright eternal day? That pain and sickness enters not To waste the frame away? That cheerless grief hath never there The heart's deep fountains stirred? The parting hand is never given The farewell never heard?

Is it that fields of living green Are decked with fragrant flowers, That bloom in one perennial Spring In Eden's happy bowers? The calm repose from weary toil From anxious care and fear? That we shall meet again the loved, Who shared our trials here?

Tis not the harp the robe the crown, The morn that hath no night, The home that hath no severed ties, The rose without the blight, The rest that cares may never break, The joy that knows no pain, The meeting round the radiant throne, Eternally to reign.

But he who all our sorrows here, And groaned upon the tree, Who trod the thorny path below, And tasted death for me, Who for us, sinners, bled and died, That we such bliss might share— The LAMB on Calvary crucified, It is that—he is there!