1 Say, have you heard of the sun-bright clime?
Undimm'd by sorrow, unhurt by time;
Where age has no power o'er the fadeless frame,
Where the eye is bright, and the heart aflame?
A river of water is flowing there,
'Mid flowers of beauty strangely fair,
And a thousand forms are hovering o'er
The golden stream on the happy shore.
2 A million of forms all clothed in white,
In garments of beauty clear and bright;
They dwell in their own immortal bow'rs;
'Mid fadeless hues of countless flow'rs;
But far away in that sinless clime,
Undimm'd by sorrow, unstain'd by crime,
Where, 'mid all things that are fair, is giv'n,
The home of the just, and its name is heav'n.
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