There would I wish to spend my days,
And with the songsters of the grove,
Chaunt forth the Great Creator’s praise,
As o’er the dewy meads I rove.
Or traversing the verdant lawn,
At humid morning’s earliest dawn,
Would contemplate the landscape o’er,
And the great Architect adore.
Or in a grotto art ne’er made,
While resting underneath its shade,