The gates ajar. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

T74 The Gates Ajar.
before one has half read it. You are quite
ready to believe that'There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,
But pleasure every way.'
Listen to this:'Thy houses are of ivory,
Thy windows crystal clear,
Thy tiles are made of beaten gold;
O God, that I were there I'We that are here in banishment
Continually do moan.'Our sweet is mixed with bitter gall,
Our pleasure is but pain,
Our joys scarce last the looking on,
Our sorrows still remain.' But there they live in such delight,
Such pleasure and such play,
As that to them a thousand years
Doth seem as yesterday.'
And this:-'Thy gardens and thy gallant walks
Continually are green;
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen.' There cinnamon, there sugar grows,
There nard and balm abound,
What tongue can tell, or heart conceive
The ioys that there are found?