1 By the hut of the peasant where poverty weeps,
And nigh to the tow’rs of the king,—
Close, close to the cradle where infancy sleeps,
And joy loves to linger and sing,
There’s a garden of light full of heaven’s perfume,
On its portals no shadows e’er rest,
And the roses and lilies are ever in bloom
‘Tis the beautiful land of the blest.
The land of the blest;
‘Tis the land of the beautiful;
Beautiful land of the blest!
2 Each hour and each moment a messenger comes,
And beckons us over the way;
Through heart-throbs and sighing, and beating of drums,
An army of mortals obey.
And the friends that in tears kissed the motionless brow,
Shall again meet the loved they have missed;
There, beyond the dark vale, they beckon us now
To the beautiful land of the blest. [Refrain]
3 Not a charm that we knew ere the bound’ry was crossed,
When we stood in the valley alone—
No trait that we miss in our darling is lost;
‘Tis fairer and lovelier grown.
As the lilies burst forth, when the shadows of night
Into bondage at daylight are pressed,
So they bask in the glow of the pillar of light,
In the beautiful land of the blest. [Refrain]
Source: Fair as the Morning. Hymns and Tunes for Praise in the Sunday-School #12