The Spirit Land
Written within six weeks of Very's return from staying in an insane asylum Father! thy wonders do not singly stand, Not far removed where feet have seldom strayed; 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 to our eyes the vision is denied; We wander in the country far remote, Mid tombs and 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.
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