Poem by Jones Very

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. 

1. Enoch
2. The Grave Yard
3. The Dead
4. The Robin
5. The New Birth

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