The sweetest refuge any soul can know!
Where all complaining stills its idle voice,
And trembling joy bids sorrow soft rejoice
Finding the living wand, whose staff below
The living waters lie like mountain spring
Defiled not in its source, whose shining face
Gives to e’en homely herbs a resting-place,
With heaven’s blue for their bright shadowing.
Pure, living source! wherein who drinks shall thirst
Not any more. Blest cup of Love Divine!