The Spirit Land

Father! thy wonders do not singly stand, Not far removed where feet have seldom strayed; Around us ever lies the enchanted land In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed; In finding thee are all things round us found; In losing thee are all things lost beside; Ears have we but in vain strange voices sound, And to our eyes the vision is denied; We wander in the country far remote, Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell; Or on the records of past greatness dote, And for a buried soul the living sell; While on our path bewildered falls the night That ne'er returns us to the fields of light.