Is This Not The Land Of Beulah

I am dwelling on the mountain,
 Where the golden sunlight gleams
 O'er a land whose wondrous beauty
 Far exceeds my fondest dreams;
 Where the air is pure, ethereal,
 Laden with the breath of flow'rs,
 They are blooming by the fountain,
 'Neath the amaranthine bow'rs.
 I can see far down the mountain,
 Where I wandered weary years,
 Often hindered in my journey
 By the ghosts of doubts and fears;
 Broken vows and disappointments
 Thickly sprinkled all the way,
 But the Spirit led, unerring,
 To the land I hold today.
 Is not this the land of Beulah?
 Blessed, blessed land of light,
 Where the flowers bloom forever,
 And the sun is always bright!
 I am drinking at the fountain,
 Where I ever would abide;
 For I've tasted life's pure river,
 And my soul is satisfied;
 There's no thirsting for life's pleasures,
 Nor adorning, rich and gay,
 For I've found a richer treasure,
 One that fadeth not away.
 Oh, the cross has wondrous glory!
 Oft I've proved this to be true;
 When I'm in the way so narrow,
 I can see a pathway through;
 And how sweetly Jesus whispers:
 "Take the cross, thou need'st not fear,
 For I've tried the way before thee,"
 And the glory lingers near.