THE SUN—BRIGHT CLIME 73

THE SUN~BRIGHT CLIME.

Have you heard, have you heard of that sun-bright clime, Undimmed by tears and uncursed by crime,

There death hath the power no more to reign,

For they live forever, and they know no pain,— Have you heard of that sun-bright clime?

There’s a city fair, ’tis the saint’s sweet home, There they ne’er shall know night’s gathering gloom, With its gates of pearl, and its streets of gold, It shines in the glory of God untold, Over there in that sun-bright clime.

A river of water gushes there

Midst flowers of beauty strangely rare, And rich-plumed songsters flit through the bowers Of the tree of life on those golden shores,

Over there in that sun-bright clime.

Soon the tansomed host, all robed in white, Will reach those fields of pure delight, And pluck rich-fruit from the life-tree bowers Mid a thousand hues of those fadeless flowers, Over there in that sun-bright clime.

Not far far away is that sun-bright clime, For now we are nearing the promised time When the Lord will come for his bride in white, Then we’ll bid adieu to those scenes of night, And go home to that sun-bright clime.