There's a beuutlful land that lies to the west Of the fin :iimi'ii vulley of Hurs, Where the grlefs that are bom are Jealously prest To the hearts of orrowful years, And are hom wlth a nolsele&s, ineasureless tread Down the valley, across the strand, Straight on to the sea where the barka of the dead Float iy to tbe Beautlful Land. The dip of the water is heard in the nlght, And thi' ifrlefx that lic on the sanil In their naked wik, through the shlminertng light, Ileach oat their wierd, shadowy hand, And btckon the vusnels lo come to them thre. And cali to the mystlcal band And drift o'er thesea, to a welcomlng air Hlown soft from the Beautlful Land. They gilde in the wonderful silence of death, Wlth faces, snow-whlte, to the west, And Illy hands klssed by the spice-laden breah That strays from the sweet land of rest. They heed nota muan from the gray, inlsty vale; They Bee not a beckonlng hand, Butsweetly they leep In the barge a-sall Kor the beaulltul. rest-glled land.