1 There is a world we have not seen,
That time shall never dare destroy,
Where mortal footstep hath not been,
Nor ear hath caught its sounds of joy:
There is a region lovelier far
Than angels tell or people sing,
Brighter than summer's beauties are,
And softer than the tints of spring.
2 There is a world, and oh! how blest,
Fairer than prophets ever told,
And never did an angel guest
One half its blessedness unfold:
It is all holy and serene,
The land of glory and repose;
And there, to dim the radiant scene,
The tear of sorrow never flows.
3 It is not fanned by summer gale;
'Tis not refreshed by vernal showers;
It never needs the moonbeam pale,
For there are known no evening hours:
No, for this world is ever bright
With a pure radiance all its own;
The stream of uncreated light
Flows round it from the eternal throne.
4 There forms that mortals may not see,
Too glorious for the eye to trace,
And clad in peerless majesty,
Move with unutterable grace:
In vain the philosophic eye
May seek to view the fair abode,
Or find it in the curtained sky:
It is the dwelling place of God.
The Southern Harmony, 1835