[From Poems; by Rev Robert Brown, 1826]


THROUGHOUT this wilderness,
Where can the spot be found
Where fallen man doth not transgress,
Where sin doth not abound?

Not so beyond the sky;
No sin shall ever sear
The paradise that blooms on high;
All, all are sinless there.

This is a world of woe;
Misfortunes here assail,
Unnumbered as the waves that flow
Before the rushing gale.

Not such the world on high;
There, none are doomed to bear
The troubles which on earth annoy;
All, all are happy there.

Here, man is travelling still
Down to the dreary grave,
As from its source the mountain rill
To join the ocean wave.

It is not thus on high,
Thence Death shall never tear;
All dwelling there his power defy,
All are immortal there.

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