Frederic Hymen Cowen
2 voix · Voice, Piano
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I hear thee speak of the Better Land, Thou call’st its children a happy band, Mother, where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flow’r of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance thro’ the myrtle boughs? Not there, not there, my child. Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o’er sands of gold, Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up, the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand Is it there, sweet mother, that Better Land? Is it there, sweet mother, that Better Land? Not there, not there, my child. Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy, Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair. Sorrow and death, sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, on its fadeless bloom, Far beyond, beyond the clouds, Far beyond, beyond the tomb, Far beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child! it is there, ’tis there!
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