 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
67
Elim
At Elim with its whispering grove of palm,And clustered wells in cool abundance springing,
Israel encamped—their sighs exchanged for singing,
And Marah's murmurs for a gladsome psalm.
Earth has its Elims still of shadowy calm—
Sweet homes, with gentle vines about them clinging,
And olive branches green—young voices ringing,
And tried affection breathing grateful balm.
Lord, if such love makes glad, such beauty graces,
The desert tracts thy people tread below—
Such wells of comfort cheer earth's resting-places,
Such pleasant shades relieve the way we go,—
That heavenly land itself, how passing fair,
How passing sweet the home that waits us there!
| Lyra Pastoralis | |