Chapter 17 No.17

"Some day," we say, and turn our eyes

Toward the fair hills of Paradise;

Some day, some time, a sweet new rest

Shall blossom, flower-like, in each breast.

Some day, some time, our eyes shall see

The faces kept in memory;

Some day their hand shall clasp our hand,

Just over in the Morning-land-

O Morning-land! O Morning-land!