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Hymns From The Land Of Luther by Jane Borthwick




|Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him| -- Jer.22:10.

|Ich weiss ein stilles, liebes Land.|


transl., Sarah Findlater, 1858

I know a sweet and silent spot,

And gladly there I stay,

Though many near me heed it not,

Or wish it far away.

'Tis but a narrow strip of land,

Hedged in, and decked with flowers;

Yet all round it tokens stand,

Of other world than ours.

These little mounds men scarcely see,

Nor dream of gold concealed;

But they are precious mines to me,

Where treasures vast are sealed.

Here, as beside some boundary-stone,

The child of troubled time

Looks upward, where his friends are gone,

And seeks their brighter clime.

Here, I have gathered strength and light

For all my future way;

Here, faith is nearly turned to sight,

And night almost to day.

And not afar, I see the day

Which daily draws more near

When passing friends shall pause, and say,

|Our brother's grave is here!|

But I'll have journeyed, glad and free,

Far from this silent spot,

While leaving to its sanctuary

What other's hands have brought;

And in my Father's happy land

Have met my own once more,

Where we shall scarcely understand

Why we have wept before.

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