Poems, by Uriah Smith

Almost to the Beautiful Land

Almost to the beautiful land!
This be the watchword to cheer thee,
When o’er thee dark tempests expand,
And dangers and trials are near thee.
Then from this perilous way,
Look up to the glory before us,
Which with unglimmering ray,
Like a bright bow of promise bends o’er us.
Only a few more seasons
Of watching and weariness here,
Ere the day-star arises,
Ere the day-dawn appear. POUS 145.2

Almost to the beautiful land!
Where the pilgrim may rest him forever,
And bask on the golden strand
Of the crystal and flowing river.
Where the fadeless crown awaiteth,
For the cross which here we bore;
And the glory ne’er abateth,
And sorrow is known no more.
Only a few more efforts To toil up the rugged hight,
Ere we reach the glorious summit.
And faith is lost in sight. POUS 145.3

Almost to the beautiful land!
Shall we grow weary then? Never!
Lift up the faltering hand,
Strengthen the feeble endeavor.
Only a few more mornings
Allotted to laboring here,
Only a few more warnings
To fall on the sinner’s ear;
Only a few more conflicts
To wage in the struggle of life,
Then the sweet victory cometh,
That endeth the toilsome strife. POUS 146.1

Almost to the beautiful land!
Shall we lose courage now? Never!
Bold in the conflict stand,
Faint not in spirit nor waver.
Woe now to him who shall suffer
Earth’s tinsel to blind his eyes;
Woe unto him who fainteth,
In sight of the glorious prize.
Up! for the moments hasten,
And the King is himself at hand:
Nerve thee with this glad watchword—
Almost to the beautiful land! POUS 146.2