Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver or gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell,
These vallies and rocks never heard;
Ne’er sigh’d at the sound of a knell,
Or smil’d when a sabbath appear’d.
Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore,
Some cordial endearing report