The Land Before Them

The land be­fore them

where to choose—

They may not dwell at one—

Lay far and wide

on ei­ther side

Beneath the morn­ing sun.

Here homes of rest

like Ed­en dressed

And there

be­yond the skies

The ci­ty stands not made with hands

Nor seen with mor­tal eyes.

Who pitched his tent where sin­ners went

Still keeps his spir­it whole;

Nor eye nor ear lets that way near

Defilement to the soul.

The Lord knows how the saint­ed brow

To fence with ho­ly shame

Sweet ang­el guest

un­known

but blest

To pull us from the flame.

Straight to his noon

with staff and shoon

The pil­grim climbs the hills;

And see the star of Christ afar

Dim through the twi­light’s chills.

There

like a pall

o’er field and wall

The fur­nace hangs its breath;

And Jor­dan’s waves those ci­ties’ graves

Heap with a sea of death.