Classic Poem

Where is the land of spirits
Whither the loved and blest,
Whither the scorned and hated,
Flee for a time of rest;
There through a thousand ages
Waiting the Judgment-day,
When the wheat shall be surely winnowed
And the chaff shall be blown away?

Oft when the noontide shimmer
Mellowed on hill and glade,
Down in the fragrant meadow
Under the orchard shade,
Upward dreamily gazing
Into the cloudless blue,
I have fancied a gleam supernal
Brightened that perfect hue.

Oft when the sun was setting
Deep in the western sky
Visions of golden beauty
Greeted my musing eye,
Visions of regal purple,
Visions supremely fair,
Till it seemed that the happy spirits
Might well have abided there.

Who has not seen the visage,
Furrowed by care and years,
Shadowed by life-long troubles,
Dimmed by a lifetime's tears,
Flash into sudden beauty,
Warm with a heavenly glow?
What if the lost one's fingers
Were smoothing that aged brow?

What if the land of spirits
Be the land we daily tread,
The land of the toiling living
As well as the silent dead?
No, not the dead but the vanished,
Not gone to another sphere,
But watching with ceaseless vigil
Our troubles and triumphs here?