Classic Poem

O Saints that shine around the heavenly Seat!
What heaven is this that opens at my feet?
What flocks are these that thro' the golden gleam
Stray on by freckled fields and shining stream?
What glittering roofs and white kiosks are these
Up-peeping from the shade of emerald trees?
Whose City is this that rises on the sight
Fair and fantastic as a city of light
Seen in the sunset? What is yonder sea
Opening beyond the City cool and free,
Large, deep, and luminous, looming thro' the heat,
And lying at the darkly shadowed feet
Of the Sierras, which with jagged line
Burning to amber in the light divine,
Close in the Valley of the happy land,
With heights as barren as a dead man's hand?

O pilgrim, halt! O wandering heart, give praise!
Behold the City of these Latter Days!
Here may'st thou leave thy load and be forgiven,
And in anticipation taste of Heaven!