Sonett-Forum

The Spirit-Land

Father! thy wonders do not singly stand,
Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayes;
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 our eyes the vision is denied;

We wander in the country far remote,
‘Mid tombs an 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.