Charles City Republican Intelligencer

Poetry.
THE BLISSFUL LAND.
There is a sun that setteth never.
Smiling o'er some blissful land :
Where his glorious lustre ever
Glows upon the silvery strand :
Never storm in anger lowering.
Breathes its note of terror there ;
Sadness, gloom, and shadows pouring
O'er the soft, becalming air.
There is a land that smileth ever,
Neath some distant sapphire sky;
Where sweet voices, silent never,
Through unfading valleys sigh;
There the rose and lily bending,
By the stream immortal glow;
And the harp and zephyr blending,
Pour a mild, harmonious flow.
There the tones of music ever
Mingle on each gentle breeze;
While its flowers eternal shiver,
In the breath of glassy seas;
And the voice of summer breaking
On its smiling, sun-lit plains,
Thousand sounds of gladness waking,
Breathes its spirit-thrilling strains.
There is a vale that fadeth never,
Where the breath of summer roves;
And the just in beauty ever
Linger midst immortal groves;
Where perpetual fountains gushing,
Lave the islands of the blest :
And the brow of spring is blushing,
By the hands of angels prest.
Blessed spirits, free from sighing.
Wandering midst its deathless flowers,
Lure us fainting, drooping, dying,
To their bright, eternal bowers;
Amaranthine boughs o'ershading
Plains by unseen angels trod;
Beauteous, midst the all-pervading
Glories of their maker-God.
There is a smile, an eye that never,
Never fadeth from the heart ;
At whose faintest memory, ever,
Angel forms to being start ;
There is a voice whose memory bringeth
Tones from spirit harps above ;
Round our bosomed thoughts it clingeth,
'Tis the voice of one we love.