Classic Poem

Oh yes, there's a land, far away, out of sight,
Where the fairest of flowers forever bloom bright--
Where the groves never wither--the buds never die--
And bright rivers of crystal forever roll by.
'Tis the clime of the Christian--the home of the blest--
Where the wretched are happy--the weary at rest.
'Neath its bowers in bloom, by its waters so still,
The righteous shall walk, free from anguish and ill;--
And they never shall pass from its portals again,
For their pleasures forever and aye shall remain.