Where the streams, with the lilies they wear, have birth;
There is peace where the alders are whispering low:
Come from man’s dwellings with all their woe!
Yes! we will come—we will leave behind
The homes and the sorrows of human kind.
It is well to rove where the river leads
Its bright blue vein along sunny meads:
It is well through the rich wild woods to go,
And to pierce the haunts of the fawn and doe;
And to hear the gushing of gentle springs,