'TIS a close-shelter'd Island—the Island of Dreams! Where Love, like the murmur of far-away streams, Doth lull with its music, doth gild with its beams. 'Tis an Island of refuge! An Island of calm! Where the weary are rested, and life has a charm That may seldom be found in this world of alarm. 'Tis an Island of worship! An Island of light! Where the soft, quiring stars are transcendently bright, And the Moon is the Queen of that Island of Night. 'Tis an Island of pleading—so tender and low, That the heart in its rapture is fain to forgo The round of its duties, the round of its woe. 'Tis the Isle of all Isles!—where grief and unrest Are hush'd on the surge of the All-mother's breast, Where hearts that are broken, again are made blest. |