Some Day Land

Man never is, but always to be blessed. -- Alexander Pope O, mystic Land of Some Day, For thee our sails are spread; Thy mountains blue are looming Above us just ahead; "Land ho!" the lookout's calling, Down oars and sails are falling, The land is just ahead! O, ever just before us Dim, hazy lies thy shore; We see the breakers rolling, We catch the mad surf's roar -- Yet vain the helmsman's steering, Despite our hoping, fearing -- Forever, just ahead! We know, O Land of Some Day, That on thy sun-kissed heights Embodied dreams await us That filled the long, long nights; That face to face beholding, With eager arms enfolding, These visions we shall clasp. We know in halls of marble Play fountains icy cold; On walls of alabaster Hang pictures framed in gold; That thro' the night time calling, The bulbul's notes are falling Upon the ravished ear. We know through thy deep valleys The purest streamlets flow; That on thy southern hillsides The purplest vine-yards glow; That in thy gold meads reaping, The fairest maids are sweeping Their sickles 'round the grain. Yet never any nearer Our vessel comes to land, Though by the prow awaiting, Right eagerly we stand; Though winds blow never failing, Still ever on we're sailing To thee, O, Some Day Land! O, mystic Land of Some Day, Behold our sails spread wide, As toward thy azure mountains 'Neath softest skies we glide; "Land ho!" the lookout's calling, Down oars and sails are falling -- Forever, just ahead!